How Cartman Stole Christmas
by Cszemis
Summary: It sucks being on Santa’s naughty list. An outraged Cartman takes jolly old St Nicholas hostage and with the help of Kyle Broflovski, the boys declare war on Christmas and everything it stands for. CHAPTER 3 UPDATE
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** How Cartman Stole Christmas: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Hanukkah

**Author:** Cszemis

**Rating:** K

**Summary:** It sucks being on Santa's naughty list. An outraged Cartman takes jolly old St Nicholas hostage and with the help of Kyle Broflovski, the boys declare war on Christmas and everything it stands for.

Notes: I had this idea back in the days before Christmas when I worked in the Disney Store and with Flabz's encouragement it has just totally taken me by surprise. I have ideas for it… like all the time. Ok so it's not Christmas anymore but if I didn't start writing it would have made my head explode and by the time I finish it it'll be nearly Christmas again LOL

ART AND FIC PIMPAGE: style-xx (do you have any idea how much you rock?)

* * *

It started with a letter

This wasn't a normal letter you must understand. It was one of those letters that changed your life, knocked you for six and made you fall flat on your ass.

And the fact it was delivered by a reindeer did not lessen its impact.

The whole of South Park stared as the reindeer made its way down the Main Street, just occasionally snorting and looking vaguely into windows, a bag of letters around its neck. Many children were delighted by its presence and ran to tell their parents that Santa had arrived early.

But Santa was not early. It was just trusty old Comet, who had been roped into helping jolly old St Nicholas with delivering replies to the children who had sent letters to him this year. Usually Santa sent an underpants gnome but there had been so many trade union problems recently and Comet was happy to help out. Santa was having to downsize his whole organisation because the world's economy had taken a slump and even Comet was feeling the pinch. He had never been so thin in his whole life and many of the Christmas treats he saw in the shop windows looked incredibly delicious.

But he had a duty to do first.

When Comet arrived at the Cartman home, a fat little boy was sitting at the kitchen table, his tongue stuck out slightly, tapping a pencil against the surface of the wood as he tried to write another kick ass Christmas story that would in some way hurt Kyle. He was writing a story that involved a Swiss Colony Beef log, talking snowmen and a Christmas tree shoved up Kyle's rectum as he became the fairy for the top of the tree (complete with pink sparkly dress and halo).

Comet knocked his antler on the kitchen window and snorted. The little boy looked up and nearly fell off his chair in surprise when he saw the reindeer. He made no movement to open the window for Comet and just stared open mouthed. South Park was a weird place but it still did not mean that wandering reindeer was particularly usual here.

Comet knocked again and Eric Cartman apprehensively approached the window, opening and giving it a curious glance. He might have seemed a perfectly innocent, merely overweight child but the moment he opened his mouth that illusion was abruptly shattered.

"What the hell you want, you stupid asshole?" he barked at the animal, glaring because it had interrupted his creative buzz.

Comet reached into his bag with extreme difficulty and pulled out a red letter. He then motioned for the child to take it.

"Eww, reindeer spit," Cartman took it grudgingly and hit Comet on the nose, "Bad reindeer! Bad!"

Comet sneezed, splattering the fat ass in more spit and Cartman shuddered, trying to hit the reindeer again. But Comet turned away and headed back up the street to deliver a letter to a girl called Jeni who had broken the slide, terrorized little boys by giving them kisses and generally been bad just like the Cartman child.

But Comet never got there.

All the excitement of a reindeer visiting houses had attracted the attention of Jimbo Kern and his lifelong partner and friend Ned Gerblansky. They had their guns and were admiring the animal from a distance until Comet unfortunately headed in their direction.

"It's coming right for us!" Jimbo panicked and fired his gun. The bullet hit Comet right in the jugular and pint after pint of blood started to gush from the reindeer's neck onto the street.

"It's coming right for us!" Ned repeated, firing with one hand at the poor creature, his bullet hitting Comet in the eye and proceeding directly into his brain. The reindeer slumped to the ground and died on the cold streets of South Park.

Ned and Jimbo then enjoyed him for dinner even though they decided he had been on a bit of the lean side for their tastes.

Eric Cartman on the other hand had just received what he believed to be the worst news of his entire life.

_Dear Eric,_

_Santa is unable to bring the PlayStation 3 for you this year due to an extensive overdraft in your naughty allowance. You have committed 11,138 minor offences and 307 naughty acts within this past financial year. This does not balance against your naughty allowance of 100 minor offences and 13 naughty acts and your good deed levels are also unsatisfactory. Only 3 good deeds were recorded this year and there were no unselfish acts at all._

_If you wish to receive presents next year then Santa requires you to change your behaviour and alter your lifestyle. However you will NOT receive presents this year due to your behaviour. Have a Merry Christmas!_

_Yours Sincerely_

_Santa Claus_

_A.k.a. Father Christmas_

_A.k.a. St Nicholas (Nick)_

Eric Cartman was shaking as he read, re-read and then re-read his letter again. He stared at the letter in shock, blinking furiously in the hope that the letters would rearrange themselves and say something different. But they did not.

"Mooooooooooooooooooooooom!" Cartman bellowed.

Liane Cartman, a pretty and shy woman in her thirties, ran to see what was the matter and scooped her young son into her arms, "Oh sweetie what's wrong?"

"Mom!" Eric shook his letter in her face, "Santa isn't bringing me presents this year!"

"Oh dear," Liane took the letter and read it herself, her face dropping as she confirmed it was true.

"You just have to buy me the PS3 then!" he told her furiously.

"Oh Eric," Liane looked rather upset; "Mommy can't afford to buy you it."

"But… but you have to!"

"I can't afford to buy you it, Eric. It costs too much."

"But it's my Christmas present!" Cartman paced throughout the kitchen, struggling to understand, "I haven't been that naughty. Why is that asshole Santa doing this to me?"

"I was counting on him buying it for you," Liane shook her head remorsefully; "I could never buy it myself. I'm afraid that you won't be getting the PS3 this year."

Cartman backed up, raising his fat hands to his fat cheeks, shaking his head from side to side, "No… it's not possible."

"I'm sorry sweetie."

"No…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

Funnily enough, it was not always Cartman that had been naughty.

There had always been the potential for it as he suffered from only-child syndrome and therefore believed that the world revolved around him and only him. But greed and selfishness are learned traits and a child can be an only child and yet a caring and generous soul. But Cartman was different. And Cartman's greed began with jealousy. Jealousy of a little Jewish boy and his dark haired friend.

It began on Cartman's first day of pre-school. He had been so absolutely terrified at the prospect of spending a day with strange people and lady he did not know. Miss Claridge was perfectly nice and got down on one knee to say hello when he entered but it was still a horrifying experience. When Miss Claridge went away to tend to Clyde, a little brunette boy that never seemed to stop crying, Cartman begged his mother to allow him to keep his frog teddy with him.

He then sat by himself for a while, just watching all the other children arrive, clutching Clyde Frog tightly to his chest and trying not to cry. His uncles had always told him off for crying and called him a pussy (whatever that was). And so he was impressed when a little boy stood in front of his mother and simply took her shouting without even a blink.

He had curly red hair which was tucked up under a green hat and the expression on his face was partly fear and partly exasperation. His mother, a large, scowling woman was giving him strict instructions to behave himself and Cartman thought to himself that he was very lucky not to have such a mean mother. The mother did give her son a kiss and a cuddle when she left and was actually more distraught that she was leaving her oldest son alone for the first time. The little boy on the other hand seemed rather apprehensive but not upset and looked around the class with wide, curious eyes.

His eyes finally settled on Eric and he waddled over to say hello. He said hello to Cartman and to Clyde Frog before holding out his hand.

"I'm Eric Cartman," the fat toddler grinned at him, reaching out to shake it.

The other boy laughed, "You're a Cart Man?"

"No, I'm not a Cart Man," Eric scowled, "I don't have a cart."

"But that's your name!"

"I don't have a cart!" Eric squeezed Clyde Frog a little harder, "what's your name?"

The child made a face and thought hard, as if he was struggling with some extreme mathematical equation, "I'm Kyle Brofofoflovski. I'm Kyle Broslovki," he took a deep breath and shook his head and decided, "I'm Kyle."

"Hello Kahl."

"Kyle," Kyle corrected him.

"Kahl," Eric shrugged, not seeing the difference.

"No, Kyle," he narrowed his eyes at the fat little boy.

"Yeah, Kahl," Cartman agreed, not realising his accent made it sound rather different.

"No it's Ky-le," he argued back.

"That's what I'm saying, Ka-hl," Cartman defended himself.

"KYLE!"

"KAHL!"

Exasperated once again, Kyle crossed his arms and looked away, "you're so stupid!"

Scandalised, Cartman actually dropped Clyde Frog on the floor, gasping loudly. "You said a bad word!" he exclaimed.

"Stupid isn't a bad word," Kyle began to look rather worried that he might be told on.

"Yeah it is and it's mean!" Eric pointed at him. But he did not tell on the redhead because of the small smile on Kyle's face.

"I know other bad words," Kyle whispered conspiratorially, fear and delight crossing his little face.

"Yeah?" Cartman leaned closer, feeling intrigued.

"I know lots!" Kyle thought for a moment and then whispered, "Fuck."

Cartman gasped again but admiration now seemed to flood into him. He was here with a boy that not only knew naughty words but was not afraid to say them. His eyes were wide and happy as they shared something they probably would have gotten grounded for.

"And there's shit!" Kyle added, thinking harder, "There's bastard and bitch and butthole!"

"And ass!" Cartman giggled and that made Kyle giggle too because he didn't know that one.

"Crap," Kyle laughed and put his hands over his mouth, shocked that he was saying such bad things and his cheeks flushed red.

"Piss!" Cartman said rather too loudly and this made Miss Claridge look over but Kyle was able to convince her that they were doing snake impressions, "hiss hiss."

Miss Claridge came over anyway and confiscated Clyde Frog. You were not supposed to bring any toys to school in case they got lost or broken and Kyle had to sit and comfort Eric while the teacher put Clyde Frog into a desk drawer. A strange sort of camaraderie had formed between the two boys and Kyle was furious that the lady had treated his new friend so badly.

And so they plotted together in the corner during playtime. They finally decided on a plan and Cartman kept look out while Kyle threw a building block at Clyde. No one saw and the block smacked him right on the top of the head, sending Clyde once again into floods of tears and Miss Claridge cursed, running over to see what was the problem now. With Kyle then on look out, Cartman raided the desks and returned the poor stuffed toy to his school bag and coat, keeping him hidden from the teacher.

By the end of the day, Cartman had decided that Kyle was his favourite person in the whole world and when he explained this to his mother she told him fondly that he had a best friend. And so Eric Cartman went into school happier than before, ready to announce to the whole class that Kyle Brofofofoflovski was his best friend.

However there was a boy with dark hair playing with Kyle now. They had apparently known each other for a long time and had plenty to say, laughing and running around, racing each other to the slide to have the first shot. Cartman obviously was not needed and suffice to say it hurt. He kept close to Kyle and his friend Stan but Stan seemed to think that Eric was a little strange and was rather obviously keeping Kyle all to himself.

Eric learned to hate Kyle. He and Stan started calling him the Cart Man and then they made fun of his weight as days turned to weeks and years. Kyle turned into a rival and an enemy even though their relationship could have been so much different. Eric Cartman could barely remember his first days at school but he was filled with pain and rage whenever Stan and Kyle left him out of things.

Then he learned about Kyle's religion and used it as a way of setting him apart, making fun of how different he was. Because Jews did not celebrate Christmas and according to Eric such a thought was unthinkable. Eventually it was he that became a bully and his many crimes and misdemeanors became legendary, even attracting the attention of Santa Claus who decided that something had to be done about that wicked Cartman child…

* * *

Kyle felt that the only thing to be done was to ignore Cartman as much as possible and hope he would go away. The fat ass had turned up at the bus stop in a foul temper, his eyebrow twitching as he vainly tried to contain his anger. Stan and Kyle edged away from Eric as he took his place beside Kyle, only moving inches but enough to keep them out of arms reach. Kenny was the only one to stay where he was at Cartman's other side, vaguely bemused and unaware under his parka.

Kyle knew that Cartman was far beyond being simply pissed off because of his utter silence. There were no Jew comments, nothing about fags nor queers nor hippies nor ghetto children and a silent Cartman was ten times more terrifying than a cursing one.

Occasionally, Cartman would shudder, as if some horrible demon possessed him and he would let out a low growl of frustration. But he did not speak to anyone, just staring into space and seemingly plotting away. But Cartman was not actually plotting, he was just trying to figure out what he had done that was so terrible that he was not going to get any presents.

Ok, he might have made Mr. and Mrs. Tenorman into chili and he may have accidentally on purpose nearly gotten his friends all raped by a bunch of perverts once but he had been sure that he had made up for all that with his fruit baskets. And yet the powers that be still demanded more payment from him.

He could not understand it. He would not understand it.

And Kyle was even more concerned when the bus arrived and everyone piled onto it except Cartman who stood outside for a few moments more. He did not really see the bus even though it was very big and very yellow. He just was not paying enough attention. It was Kenny who finally pulled him aboard but the three friends abandoned Cartman to sit at the back, freaked out by his behaviour.

Trying to lighten the situation Stan brought up the subject of presents. Everyone at the back of the bus began talking animatedly, boasting about the goodies that they expected on Christmas morning.

"I'm getting the Red Racer platinum remote control car!" Craig was saying loudly.

"I'm getting the Playstation 3 and seven new video games plus more memory cards," Stan was smiling, planning on spending his Christmas Day killing monsters.

"I'm getting a telescope with 1500x magnification," Kyle said in a low voice, not sure how people would react to his Hanukkah present.

Kenny was kneeling on his seat having sat in front of Stan and Kyle. This meant that if the bus suddenly stopped then Kenny would most likely be thrown the full length of the bus and out of the windshield but he either didn't realise this or didn't care.

"Santa's getting me a new PC and a year's subscription for World of Warcraft," Kenny smiled, looking forward to abandoning real life for the massive multiplayer role playing game reality that he loved so much.

"I can't play World of Warcraft anymore," Kyle frowned up at him, "you keep molesting my character!"

"It's your own fault for choosing the one with big boobs," Kenny laughed.

Clyde piped up, looking overly pleased with himself, "Dudes, Santa promised me a years free membership pass for the Peppermint Hippo!"

Kenny hit the back of his chair in frustration, "Damn! I should have asked for that!"

"You can borrow it sometime," Clyde shrugged.

"Really?" Kenny looked hopeful.

"No."

"Ergh!" someone screamed from the front of the bus. It was Cartman, his face scrunched up so tight and his fists clenched, "Errrgh!"

"Dude," Kyle said, giving Cartman a funny look, "what's up with you?"

"Yeah Cartman," Stan looked almost worried about their fat friend, "you alright?"

Cartman shuddered again and seethed, "would… you… guys… stop… flaunting… your… presents?"

"Huh?" Kenny asked, confused.

"Just because you guys are supposed to be so awesome and nice doesn't mean you deserve your presents," Cartman turned around his seat to glare at all the boys at the back of the bus, "you're all just stupid faggy assholes!"

"Aww jeez Eric," Butters looked back him, feeling rather guilty, "I guess I don't deserve anything. I've been naughty. I don't deserve the Hello Kitty Beauty Salon Play set."

A bunch of the other buys burst out laughing but Cartman took him seriously, "you don't deserve anything, you stupid queermo!"

Butters's eyes filled with tears, "I'm a bad kid!"

"No you're not," Kyle stood up and put an arm on his shoulder, glaring down the bus at Eric Cartman, "I don't know what your problem is but you can leave us out of it!"

"Shut the fuck up Jew!"

Kyle bristled and began to walk down the passageway, "You can shut it fat ass!"

Stan jumped up and grabbed Kyle's shoulder, "Hey, he's not worth it! Just ignore him and maybe he'll go away."

"Fat chance," Kyle glared one more time at Cartman and then sat back down beside Stan. Stan patted his back reassuringly and they shared a small smile.

Stan was always so good at making things seem better.

He certainly made things better for the rest of the bus journey, telling everyone Christmas jokes and cheering up Butters who had begun to panic that he may not have gotten any presents this year. There had been a rumour spreading throughout the school that Santa had made cutbacks on the delivery of presents and everyone was dreading that horrible rejection letter straight from the North Pole.

They were discussing that issue in class, wondering who might end up with one of those dreaded letters when Mrs. Garrison shimmied into the room, a box full of Christmas decorations in her arms.

"Alright class, its three weeks to Christmas and this morning I thought I'd give all you little bastards a treat. We're going to decorate the class and then make Christmas cards!" the class cheered loudly but Mrs. Garrison waved them silent, "and then we can go back to multiplying fractions."

"Aww," Stan groaned and rolled his eyes. Kyle rolled his too as everyone got up from their desks to take the decorations handed out to them.

Stan, Kyle and Kenny were put on Christmas tree duty and had to stand on chairs to place baubles on some of the high branches. Kenny would not go higher than that and Stan also had some reservations about balancing at the edge of a desk to hang some fairy lights around the tree. That job was then left to Kyle who had a better head for heights than all of them.

Kyle, a handsome Semitic boy of nine, was rather brave and intelligent for someone so young. A straight A student, Kyle's only vices were his awful temper and his overly bossy mother but he had a kind heart and had patience for everyone apart from Cartman, his only enemy. Stan Marsh, his best friend, was smiling swarthy youth, his dark hair complementing gentle blue eyes. What Stan lacked in brains he made up for in boldness, the sort of boy always willing to go the extra mile for those he cared about. Kenny McCormick on the other hand was a reserved, skinny child, hiding an angelic complexion behind the hood of his orange parka. Although he thought too much about women and breasts Kenny was actually quite shy, probably because he had a nasty habit of dying from the slightest little mishap. He had been resurrected more times than Jesus.

That might have been why he was unwilling to place the star on the top of the tree. The rest of the class were busy making paper chains and hanging holly in different places around the room but Eric Cartman was trying his best not to help out very much. He was working with Craig and Butters and was supposed to be decorating Mrs. Garrison's desk with glitter and tinsel but he was instead watching his annoying friends decorate the tree. He had felt a strange sort of cruel satisfaction when Kenny backed down from placing the star and Stan waved off the opportunity in favour of Kyle.

"Oh look everyone," Cartman announced, his vindictive voice breaking the merry atmosphere, "a Jew is about to ruin Christmas."

Kyle froze halfway up a ladder, blushing when everyone turned to look at him.

"Does that star have six points Kahl?" Cartman asked, enjoying the sensation of taking his anger out on someone, "because we're not having some stupid Jew star on our Christmas tree."

"It has five," Stan spoke up for Kyle, keeping the ladder steady so Kyle would not fall.

"I wasn't asking you, fag," Cartman barked. Mrs. Garrison opened her mouth to intervene but Cartman was not about to be stopped.

"Just exactly where do you get off ruining this holiday for everyone Kahl? Who gave you the right to put that star up there? THIS IS NOT YOUR HOLIDAY KAHL! YOU KILLED JESUS! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO CELEBRATE HIS BIRTH!"

"Goddammit Cartman," Kyle stomped down the rungs and thrust the star into Stan's hands, "what the fuck is up with you today?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Cartman threw his arms wide, "What's wrong is having you assholes wreck our holiday!"

"I haven't done anything!" Kyle protested. He hadn't done anything and neither had his people. The only blame lay with Santa.

"You exist Kahl… you exist," Cartman pointed his finger in Kyle's face, "but if Hitler had done his job properly then you wouldn't."

With one hand, Kyle grabbed Cartman's finger and twisted it back. And just as Cartman let out a horrible howl of pain, Kyle's fist swung around and slammed into Eric's nose, almost breaking it but hitting it hard enough to make him bleed. Cartman struggled to breathe through the blood and backed away from Kyle, a rare fear in his eyes.

"Eric Cartman!" Mrs. Garrison finally dashed forward, "you go to the nurse's office to get that face fixed and when you get back you and I are going to have some serious words about cultural sensitivity."

Cartman left the room still holding his nose, muttering under his breath when Garrison turned around to regard Kyle.

"Detention, Broflovski. After school."

"What?" Stan looked horrified, "But it was Cartman that provoked him!"

"I know," Mrs. Garrison frowned, "but you can't just go around hitting people Kyle. Do you have anger management issues or something?"

"You weren't stopping him…" Kyle said in a small voice, beginning to feel utterly ashamed of himself.

"Detention. Three o'clock. In here with me. And that's my final word on the matter."

"But…"

Mrs. Garrison sent all the children back to their seats and instead of making Christmas cards like she had promised them, they spend the rest of the day doing fractions. When Cartman came back his nose was rather swollen but he looked ok and instead of participating in the class he read his letter under the desk.

At lunchtime Stan and Kyle abandoned everyone to hang around on the swings, both ranting about how unfair Mrs. Garrison was and how much of an asshole Eric Cartman could be.

"We were supposed to be going to the mall and stuff," Stan swung slightly, sounding disappointed.

"I'm sorry dude," Kyle looked miserable. He had been looking forward to seeing Santa at the mall. Even though he didn't celebrate the holiday he appreciated how much it meant to Stan and he liked seeing everyone so happy as they bustled about from store to store. It felt nice to be caught up in the atmosphere.

"Well, I can go with everyone else and then I'll meet you at Stark's Pond after your detention," Stan suggested.

"Not at the mall?" Kyle asked.

"Nah. We can head back to mine and have eggnog and play videogames."

"I'd like that," Kyle swung a little bit more, "Stark's Pond at 4?"

"Sure dude," Stan nodded.

* * *

Stan never showed up.

Kyle was there a few minutes before four and waited eagerly for three hours on a bench beside Stark's Pond. It was a harshly cold night and a blizzard was swept up, half burying the poor Jewish boy as he waited for his best friend in the whole wide world.

Being one hour late was excusable. It was Christmas and there would be long lines at the mall. Stan could have been getting a bit upset at the delays and rushing to Kyle's side at any moment. Two hours was pushing it. Stan may have forgotten he was meeting Kyle in all the festive excitement and only just realizing what he had done. He would be running to Stark's Pond apologizing profusely. Three hours was beyond a joke. Stan had forgotten him. Stan would not be meeting him and Kyle was most definitely abandoned on the edges of Stark's Pond, getting slowly buried by the falling snow.

It was around the three hour point that Kyle's heart had begun to sink, realizing that he may as well go home. But he did not want to. A part of him still held out the hope that he was not forgotten and someone would be coming for him soon. The more cynical side of him (an inner voice that sounded an awful lot like Cartman) unhelpfully pointed out that Kyle was abandoned every year like this. Every year the other kids went off to play by themselves, talking about Santa and drinking eggnog.

They always left Kyle alone in December. Always

"It's hard to be a Jew on Christmas," Kyle sang hoarsely, just under his breath, feeling his eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears and he shivered from the wind, "My friends won't let me join in any games."

Kyle dug his feet out of the snow, it had now reached around his ankles and was beginning to slip into his shoes, his toes biting with the cold, "and I can't sing Christmas songs or decorate a Christmas tree or leave water out for Rudolph cause there's something wrong with me."

Unable to see for the angry tears, Kyle stood up and wobbled, the small mountain of snow that had piled up on the top of his head quivering slightly. With white hot rage in his veins and horrible cold loneliness in his heart he flung out his arms and yelled at the night, "My people don't believe in Jesus Christ's divinity!"

And it was that fact that had him once again by himself at this time of year, all his so-called friends abandoning him time and time again for their yuletide happiness. The thought of them all, laughing and warm caused him to shiver, a tear escaping from his eye and burning its way down his cheek.

"I'm a Jew, a lonely Jew… on Christmas."

Kyle kicked the pile of snow that had begun to bury him with a fury that only made him feel more hollow and lonely. It was not the fact that he hated Christmas or wanted to convert from Judaism. It was the fact that Stan would probably just use the holiday as his excuse for forgetting about him. He'd tell him not to be such a pussy, that Christmas was really important. Well to Kyle it was his friends that were important and he could not for a moment imagine leaving them in the snow for three hours and never show up. Because was it unlikely that Stan would ever appear now.

"Hanukkah is nice, but why is it, that Santa passes over my house every year?" he asked the night sky, as if he expected God Himself to tell him why he had to be so different from everyone else. But the snow only blew harder and nearly pushed the nine year old off his feet.

But Kyle stayed upright, not allowing the snowstorm to break him. He only raised his voice louder, daring the sky to stop him. The sound of him was probably lost in the wind and the snow stung as it grazed against his cheeks. He took two steps forward into the wind, the little mountain of snow threatening to topple off his head and down the back of his jacket.

"And instead of eating ham I have to eat Kosher Latkes," Kyle found himself sobbing. He was cold, so cold and the only thing to warm him was his rage, "Instead of Silent Night I'm singing hey-hach-dol-gavish! And what the fuck is up with lighting all these fucking candles, tell me please?"

The wind began to die down, as if it could not think of how to answer his pleas. The snow now fell gently down on him. His whole body quivered, once again thinking of everyone having a good time without him and that hurt more than anything else he could imagine. He could picture Stan enjoying himself, his face lit up as he told Santa what he wanted for Christmas, Kenny's family actually getting along for once and just enjoying each other's company, Cartman singing carols with his mother, occasionally stuffing his face with whatever treats he could find.

And it hurt. It hurt to be so alone. To have no one that understood.

"I'm a Jew, a lonely Jew," Kyle could no longer hold back his tears and they slipped freely from his sad eyes, dripping down into the snow. He made his way to a tree for a bit of shelter and sat down again. The snow froze him through his clothes and made him feel numb. But even though he began to lose all feeling in his body his stomach was still twisted, his heart pained.

He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them, trying to finish his song even as sorrow began to overtake him.

"I'd be merry, but I'm….. But I'm," Kyle choked, "but…. I'm…"

He could not take it anymore. Giving up completely, he rested his head on the top of his knees and wept, his shoulders shaking with each sob. The mountain of snow shunted forward a little but still did not fall. It felt like the weight of the world was upon one small boy from Colorado and he just couldn't take it. Not alone.

Fortunately and unfortunately, the wind had heard his song and swept up and billowed the sound to another boy of Kyle's age but he was hardly the person that Kyle ever wanted to hear him cry. Cartman stopped dead when he heard the sound. He was still furious himself but when he heard the singing and sobs he felt strangely mellow, like the misery of someone else was somehow sating his anger.

Curious he hid behind a tree and peered around its base. There sat Kyle Broflovski, his back to him but his shoulders visibly heaving with each sob. Fragments of Kyle's song hung on the wind and Cartman's eyes widened as he heard it.

"I'm a Jew… a lonely Jew…"

Eric Cartman was suddenly struck with two greatly conflicting emotions. Firstly he wanted to run up to Kyle and laugh in his face, saying that he got what he deserved for daring to be Jewish on Christmas. To pelt him with snowballs and really make him cry. But at the same time he was overcome with a strange sort of possessiveness. At once he wanted to know who it was that had upset Kyle so and then tear their legs off. He may have hated Kyle but Kyle was his to torment and his alone.

He stepped out from behind the tree, feeling the wind whip up, sending a flurry of snowflakes around them both. He heard Kyle whimper and draw further into himself, hugging his knees tighter, burying his face away from the cold. Cartman shivered too.

"You can't stay out here," he said, "you'll freeze to death."

Kyle did not respond. He stayed curled up in that little ball, pleading desperately with God to make that asshole Eric Cartman leave. But Eric did not leave. He went and sat down beside Kyle, hissing as the snow froze his butt cheeks.

"Didn't you hear me you stupid asshole?" Cartman shook Kyle's shoulder, "you're gonna freeze to death!"

"I don't care," Kyle was barely audible.

"I care," Cartman frowned and stared at the mountain of snow piled up on his enemy's ushanka, "how long have you been out here?"

"Three hours. Stan never showed up… but he might soon."

"You waited three hours for that fag?" Cartman snorted, "why?"

"He's my best friend," Kyle lifted his head and Cartman was shocked by how puffy and red his eyes were.

"Some fucking best friend," Cartman sighed, "even I know better than that."

"It's Christmas," Kyle's teeth were chattering and Cartman had to struggle to understand him, "This always happens, I always get abandoned."

"Christmas is fucking bullcrap," Cartman felt angry again and balled his fists up, "I'm never celebrating it again! Never!"

Kyle looked at him confused, but he was now so cold, shaking so much that the world had stopped making sense. Was Cartman really denying Christmas and everything it stood for? But he did not want to ask him about it now, his eyes still searching for Stan's familiar form in the distance.

Cartman obviously noticed this, "he's not coming you dipshit. He's off with the other assholes jingling all the fucking way."

Kyle shook his head and hugged his knees.

Cartman gritted his teeth and grabbing Kyle's forearm he forced the Jewish boy to his feet, "dude, you've got like a mountain of snow on your hat."

He reached up and brushed it off, still watching Kyle's rather anguished expression. He muttered to himself and shook his head, "stupid, fucking fag leaving the pussy out in the snow for three hours. I'm the fucking one that has to make sure he doesn't get pneumonia. Why do I have to be the one to clean up everyone else's messes? I don't even like Kahl. Stupid fucking fag and fucking Jew friend."

There was obviously still a little bit of Kyle that hadn't been frozen because he glared even if he didn't fight back. Cartman straightened out Kyle's jacket, still bitching to himself. Kyle tried to swat his hands away but his eyes filled up and he couldn't see Cartman for a moment (which was certainly saying something considering his size).

"You lot always do this every fucking year!" Kyle's chin was trembling, "I'm sick of it and sick of you!"

"You're going home before you freeze," Cartman grabbed his arm and began dragging him in the direction of the Broflovski home. Why hadn't Kyle's bitch of a mother noticed he was not home either?

"Leave me alone!" Kyle yelled, trying to dig his heels into the snow.

Cartman stopped and grabbed his shoulders, hissing into Kyle's face, "Don't make me carry you asshole."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Why?"

"If you think I'm sitting through a Jewish funeral you've got another thing coming Jewboy," Cartman began tugging him towards home again. "And you're lucky you don't celebrate Christmas!"

Kyle frowned, wondering why. But he didn't need to ask because the fat ass explained anyway.

"You don't have to deal with all the seasonal bullshit at all," Cartman said through clenched teeth, "You don't have to be on your best behavior to be on the good list, or give to charity. You don't have to go to grandma's house with your crackhead family. You don't need to put up with that asshole Santa."

"You're not getting the Playstation 3 then?" Kyle asked rather cruelly.

Cartman spun around and for a moment Kyle thought he was going to get a slap but he was just told, "You know nothing!"

For most of the journey they walked in silence, Kyle occasionally falling behind as his leg muscles were sore and tight after shivering for so long. Cartman would decrease his pace to allow the redhead to catch up and he did not comment on it either. Cartman knew well that Kyle would never admit weakness to him. Ever. Even if Kyle had a broken leg he would still be determined to catch up; limping, crawling, rolling.

But it was getting exasperating. Cartman wanted to be home now and bitch to Clyde Frog about the unfairness of his situation but he felt an awful sort of responsibility to make sure _he_ got home safe. He heard Kyle suck in a breath of effort behind him and rolled his eyes. He was beginning to think it might be easier to just drag Kyle home rather than put up with the slow pace.

_Why are you even helping him_? A little voice asked Cartman inside his head. _You hate Kyle; you hate every bone in his body._

Cartman did hate Kyle and while he used Judaism as an excuse he sometimes thought that might not be the reason. Perhaps it was Kyle's holier-than-thou attitude, the way Kyle always made fun of his weight, perhaps Cartman hated Kyle because Kyle hated him too and it was the only way the friendship would work.

Whatever the reason, there was only one person in the world that Cartman would have saved from a Smug Storm. There was only one person in the universe that Cartman would give annoying kisses with his little hand puppet. Only one person he would drown in a bubble just so they would finally be happy. One person he sang his news to ("Na Na Na Na Na Na ha ha ha ha ha ha"). It was weird that Cartman always ran up to Kyle singing his news but he loved seeing the disgusted look on Kyle's face almost as much as life itself.

He could not remember those first days of pre-school, and if he had Cartman might have had a better understanding of his relationship with Kyle and gotten over it. Cartman may have been friends with Clyde (who seemed to like him a lot) and Craig (who he despised but probably would have been a good partner in world domination plots). But he'd probably still be on the naughty list, even if he had learned not to hang onto his group of friends so much. He liked his friends (except Kyle) and took a great deal of pleasure in seeing them all suffer (especially Kyle).

But if Kyle's suffering was a treat now then the minutes following was a banquet.

Cartman spotted them first and tried to direct Kyle away from them, using his size to hide them from view. Unfortunately Kyle seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Stan and his head jerked up, almost like he could hear or even smell him coming from behind Cartman's large ass. He and Cartman gave each other a lingering look; Eric trying to decipher just how pissed off Kyle was going to be and Kyle trying to find sympathy from his enemy.

"Hey dudes," Stan waved and smiled, walking towards them with Wendy Testaburger and Clyde.

Kyle seized up and did not reply. Cartman merely waved.

"How are you guys doing?" Stan asked, oblivious to the frustration pouring off Kyle in waves, "This is some snow storm huh?"

"It's snowing?" Cartman asked sarcastically, a gust of it hitting him in the face, "You'd think I would have noticed."

"Well you're so stupid that it takes a long time for the information to reach your brain, fat ass," Stan smirked, Wendy chuckled and Clyde grinned shyly. Kyle made no movement.

"I may be stupid but at least I'm good at remembering things," Cartman pointed out, but Stan still seemed happily ignorant.

"Yeah, a memory like an elephant!" Stan looked at his best friend to see if he would laugh. Kyle face twitched as he struggled to restrain himself.

Stan was a little puzzled by Kyle's reserve and said softly, "Dude, you can laugh, your face isn't going to freeze like that."

"I… am… not… going… to… laugh," Kyle seethed through clenched teeth.

Stan thought that the cold might be getting to Kyle, "let's get back you guys, my mom can make us eggnog," he took a hold of Kyle's shoulder and tried to lead him away from Cartman.

Kyle wrenched his shoulder free and Stan looked at him horrified, "Dude! What the fuck?"

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?" Kyle screeched, unable to control his anger anymore.

"What?" Stan looked confused.

"Ho ho," Cartman whistled, "here we go."

"THREE HOURS, STAN!" Kyle bellowed, clenching his fists in front of him, "I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THREE HOURS!"

Stan blinked, "what for?"

Kyle let out a horrible growl of frustration, "FOR YOU! YOU STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE RETARD!"

"Erm…" Stan looked rather uncomfortable, "we just said we were meeting later."

"This is later!" Kyle yelled into Stan's face, "If we had met five minutes after detention it would have been _later_. If we had met an hour afterwards it would have been _later! _Three hours is _later_!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Stan tried to explain himself, "but Clyde got in a fight with the mall Santa because he seemed to think a year's free membership pass for the Peppermint Hippo was inappropriate for children and Wendy needed help picking a present for her dad…"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!" Kyle shouted, not caring about the slightly offended expressions on Wendy and Clyde's faces.

"Dude, you don't need to be such a little bitch about it," Stan scowled at his best friend.

"THREE HOURS! STARK'S POND! SNOWING! CARTMAN!" Kyle seemed to be shouting random words for a moment as his anger slowly got the better of him.

"And I said I was sorry," Stan pointed out.

"Sorry isn't good enough this time," Kyle's face was contorted in fury, "you do this all the time. Every fucking year I have to put up with your excuses!"

"Christmas is important…" Stan began.

"And I'm not?" Kyle demanded.

"Dude, I didn't say that!"

"But you were thinking it! It comes down to this. You care more about your stupid holiday that promotes selfishness, breeds greed, turns children into spoiled little shits, parents into irritable and obnoxious drunks and has more to do with a fat prowler paedo leaving stuff in the middle of the night rather than any fucking religious significance!"

"Don't you belittle my people, Jew!" Stan stabbed his finger on Kyle's chest, his cheeks burning red.

Kyle raised a fist and at once Cartman and Clyde had sprung into action. Clyde wrapped his arms around Stan's waist to pull him out of reach of Kyle and Cartman had grabbed Kyle's hands, nearly getting punched around the face for his trouble.

"You're not my best friend anymore, asshole!" Kyle yelled at Stan, struggling in Cartman's grip.

"Same to you buddy!" Stan snapped back, digging his heels in when Clyde tried to lead him away.

"I hope you have a shitty Christmas!" Kyle cursed at him.

"And you have a crappy New Year Kyle!" Stan was finally led away when Wendy was able to coax him to, but he still glared at his former best friend over his shoulder.

Kyle struggled with Cartman until the three children had gone out of sight. Then he stopped and for the second time that night he broke into uncontrollable sobs. Cartman let go of Kyle's wrists and put an awkward and uncomfortable arm around Kyle's shoulders.

"You don't need him dude…"

"Fuck you," Kyle sobbed, still angry and yet horribly heartbroken.

"You know, I don't actually care if you break up with your faggy little boyfriend or not," Cartman noticed that Kyle was leaving tear stains on his red coat.

"He's not faggy!" Kyle defended him before realising what he had done.

"No, he's just an asshole," Cartman blinked. Most times he would relish Kyle's tears and often thought about drinking them but as Kyle sobbed he thought it'd be rather inappropriate to do so.

So he took Kyle home, letting the redhead lean on him the whole way. He decided that it would be less delicious to pick on Kyle when he could not even fight back. It was nicer when Kyle had some spunk and fought back, it always felt more than he had earned Kyle's unhappiness afterwards rather than taking advantage of a weakened state.

The school had phoned Mrs. Broflovski to let her know that her son had a detention after school and when there was a knock on her front door she was ready to let Kyle have it. She had thought up a lot of choice phrases to use "This isn't like you Kyle," and "what sort of example are you showing to your little brother Kyle?" But when she opened the door and saw Kyle's teary face she forgot all of them.

She embraced her son, not knowing why he was so upset. She only noticed Cartman a few minutes afterwards and glared at him instead, guessing that he would be the one that upset her bubbulah so much. But just as she began to rant at him, Eric Cartman silenced her with one phrase, span on his heel and left.

"When you assume you make an ass out of u and me both, Mrs. Broflovski."

Cartman went home to think. He thought in his living room with Mr. Kitty, he thought all the way during supper and he even thought as he lay tucked up in bed with Clyde Frog. It was around midnight that a plan began to formulate in his mind and he saw what he had to do. If Santa was not going to give him presents then he would have to visit Santa and demand why not.

He pondered exactly how to do that. The Mall Santa had not been any help at all. Cartman showed him the letter and the fake St Nick had tried to wave him away, saying it was not part of his job and he would have to contact the higher ups in Santa's organisation. The Mall Santa explained he was only a grass root employee and that there had been many changes recently. He admitted that Cartman was not the only one to receive a letter but stated again that Cartman would have to take his complaint up with someone else.

There was absolutely no way that a nine year old boy could make the trek to the North Pole by himself so in the early hours of the morning he set out for the Tweek home.

The underpants gnomes were not going to know what hit them.

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**READ AND REVIEW PLEASE**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: How Cartman Stole Christmas: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Hanukkah  
Author: Cszemis  
Rating: K  
Summary: It sucks being on Santa's naughty list. An outraged Cartman takes jolly old St Nicholas hostage and with the help of Kyle Broflovski, the boys declare war on Christmas and everything it stands for.

Disclaimer: I own neither South Park nor the songs I use in this merry old tale.

OMG. If when you finish reading this you don't go and check moonyprof's work then I will poison all of you, handcuff your leg to a pole and say the only way you can get the anti-dote is through using a hacksaw! I mean it! Go and look her up! NOW DAMMIT! But a great inspiration for me in this fic was spoonybard's picture of Cartman and Kyle on the "clap" section of her website. It's so awesome.

But on a lighter mood, who do I love? Well I love BroflovskiFan and cjmarie and athena1999 and style-xx and Shuggie and I love IBB for her "awesome nearly make me cry" reviews and Flabz for kicking me every step of the way. Aww you guys…

* * *

"Ho ho fucking ho, what a crock of shit. We all work for Santa Claus, we've had enough we quit! We do all the fucking work while he stars in the show! Stick your Christmas up your arse! Ho ho fucking ho, bah humbug."

Tweek was watching the gnome from his bed and he really didn't like to interrupt it stealing his underwear as it seemed to be in a very bad mood. So he could only fidget uncomfortably as the little creature rifled through his drawers and stole every last piece of underwear.

How stolen underwear was supposed to guarantee a profit no one knew. Not even the gnomes had figured that out yet but they knew there was a profit in used underwear somewhere and they had always stolen Tweek's just to see him freak out. This particular gnome however wasn't here for kicks. He was majorly pissed off and had flung himself into the used underwear business after being treated like crap at the North Pole for the last time.

The gnome had been a line manager for jolly old St Nicholas and had enjoyed keeping all his workers in order. But he had allowed them all to rebel when Santa had slashed their wages again for the sixth year in a row. Santa said that the rise of terrorist threat had caused the world's economy to slump and made people wary of big purchases during the festive season. There was also a danger to Santa Claus himself if he tried to deliver presents to Christians in unfriendly nations. He had already been shot down once and he had given himself a big pay check in return.

So the gnomes had been given a pay cut, Santa had given himself a pay rise and the whole organisation still gave away free presents to children in return for Coca Cola sponsorship. Years and years ago Santa had made his journeys decked out in green but the Coca Cola Company had the idea that if he turned red then he would be promoting their product and he would look particularly awesome as well. And from then on Santa was red and Coca Cola happily paid for nearly everything. That was the only revenue Santa had. And while the whole world over now regarded Father Christmas as a jolly fat man in a red suit the payments were not enough to cover the increasing world population.

This gnome thought Santa was a second rate, lowlife, cookie hogging, milk slurping, asshole bastard of a reindeer fucker. He hated Santa Claus. Everything to him was business and how the hell was he supposed to make any sort of profit on the wages he was given by St Nick?

His anger had temporarily blinded the poor gnome and he barely noticed Tweek at all, checking the elasticity of the different pants and then shoving them all into his bag. He didn't notice the fat little boy crouched behind a bush outside either. He was singing more rude Christmas songs to himself when he was finally pounced upon, sandwiched between many layers of flab and the cold ground, furious hands trying to hold him still.

"What the fuck?" the gnome wheezed, unable to breath under the weight.

Oxygen flowed back into his lungs with a terrified gasp when his world was surrounded in darkness, shoved rather unceremoniously into a sack. He kicked and screamed and struggled, beating the material furiously with his fists, trying to get out.

"Let me out of here, asshole!" the gnome screamed, kicking the side of the sack and falling on his backside when the whole bag was shaken.

He heard low, cold laughter and tried to steady himself. He then became aware that they were moving by how the sack swung back and forth, his attacker quite obviously in a hurry. The gnome felt around to find his own bag of underwear, hoping that perhaps some of it had been used and stained and could become some sort of weapon. But his own bag had disappeared, lost and abandoned on Tweek's front lawn. He had nothing to protect himself save his fists and his teeth. And they wouldn't be much good against the mound of flesh that had captured him.

He heard a front door slam and his captor dashed down a flight of stairs and the gnome felt the temperature dip a little, sinking his heart as well. They were obviously going underground, into a sort of cave that humans like to call a basement. He bared his teeth and was ready to bite when a fat hand reached in and grabbed his foot, dragging him from the darkness of the sack into the dim light of the basement.

"YOU FUCKING LITTLE ASSHOLE!" he squealed indignantly, "WHEN I'M THROUGH WITH YOU YOU'RE GOING TO BE WEARING YOUR COLON AS A HAT!"

"Stop your bitching," a voice said but all the gnome could see was a sea of red material, disorientated with being held upside down.

The captor turned him upright only to tie him to a small stool, binding his hands and legs and evading the gnome's teeth. It was about the exact same time that the gnome's eyes were able to focus and he could make out a large, very fat child around the age of 8 or 9, wearing a yellow and blue hat and an extraordinarily enormous red coat.

The child had an evil smile and an air of malice about him, standing in front of the unfortunate gnome, a roll of duct tape in one hand and a small knife in the other.

"You and me are going to have a little talk," the boy said slowly and purposefully, his eyes glinting.

"Let me go you little fucker," the gnome rattled the stool from side to side, trying to loosen the duct tape binding him. But it did absolutely nothing and he could only glare at the child standing over him.

"We're going to talk about Christmas," the child pretended not to hear him, "and we're going to discuss Santa Claus too."

"I HATE SANTA CLAUS!" the gnome protested.

"We have something in common then. But you still know an awful lot about him, being one of his gnomes and all. You're going to give me the information I need or I'm going to hurt you."

"I don't know anything," the gnome squeaked, "I quit. I know nothing."

The boy laughed, his fat rippling, "You know some stuff."

"If I tell you will you let me go?"

The boy thought for a moment and that smile returned, "No."

"Jesus Christ dude!" the gnome was really beginning to panic, "I'll tell you everything. Just please let me go."

"I want revenge, payment for the suffering your master has caused me," his captor admitted.

"He's not my master anymore," the gnome wheezed, "I hate him, please, just let me go. You don't need to hurt me."

There was a chuckle, "Listen gnome, I'm not gonna bullshit you, all right? I don't give a good fuck what you know, or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway… regardless. Not to get information. It's amusing, to me, to torture a gnome. You can say anything you want cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get."

"I hate Santa," the gnome began to sob, "Please, kid, come on. I tried to rebel against him. I quit my job. It's all about the underwear now. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T KILL ME!"

"Rebel?" the child frowned, "why'd you do that?"

"He cut my wages," he cried, "I couldn't afford to live, I had no profits. He was taking everything from us!"

"The gnomes?" you could see the child thinking to himself, "He was exploiting his workers?"

"For the love of God, yes!" he tried to shake the stool back and forth again but the child reached a hand out to steady him. He could feel his chin being grabbed and the next thing he knew he was staring directly into the brown eyes of his captor.

"Were they all rebelling?"

"Yeah! Most of them. Dear God," he blinked hard to clear his terrified tears.

"And he's sending out letters rejecting naughty kids right?" the child asked.

"Yeah! He's jerking everyone around. We're all suffering. He doesn't care. Santa doesn't care."

The kid stood back, giving him room to breathe. He then scratched his chin and dropped the knife on the ground. He had clearly not expected to hear this sort of story and it became clear to the gnome that this child must be one of the thousands that would receive no presents this year.

After a long, thoughtful silence the child asked, "What's your name little dude?"

"Bob," the gnome told him.

The kid snorted, "Bob? That's not your name."

"It is my name, fatty!" they glared at one another, "I'm Bob."

"I thought you guys had named like Enron and Legoland and Arwank."

"Th-that's elves," Bob felt indignant, "gnomes are different."

The kid stood there studying him for a few minutes more and Bob could see the horrid workings of his mind weighing up this new information. Occasionally the boy would smile and then think some more.

"I'm Eric Cartman" the kid sounded a lot more pleasant now, "and I'm going to free you. But we're still going to be having a little talk."

"Yeah sure," Bob decided to agree with whatever Eric had to say, "whatever you want dude."

Eric Cartman picked up his knife and with practiced ease sliced apart the duct tape trapping the poor gnome. Bob shrugged himself free and hopped down to stand beside Eric, looking up at him warily with wide eyes.

"Don't be afraid Bob," Cartman drawled and smirked deviously, "I think you'll find… with a little co-operation… that I'm a fabulous business partner…"

* * *

Kyle must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

It was the only way to explain how he was feeling that morning. He remembered his argument with Stan the day before mere moments before he woke up and was filled with a strange sort of bitterness when he opened his eyes. Birds that had not flown south for the winter sang merrily outside on his window sill and Kyle was struck with an urge to throw a rock at them.

Holidays seasons always promote strong, strange feelings within people so it might have explained why Kyle was feeling more rage than normal. But it did not explain how he ended up at Cartman's house that morning rather than going on the school bus with everyone else. He did not want to have to put up with Stan's sideways glances at him and he did not feel like having a tug of war for Kenny's company either.

It was generally accepted in South Park that Kyle was a little psychic. Cartman liked to theorise that was the reason Kyle always did so well on tests, he knew what the questions were going to be, studied for them and was basically cheating. But Kyle's mother, bitch that she was, seemed to possess a slightly similar ability. She seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere and could tell if Kyle had misbehaved even before anyone told her. So it was extraordinary for Kyle to behave so badly, deliberately missing the school bus. His mother had taken Ike to the dentist after one of Kyle's kick the baby games resulted in a chipped tooth and so her psychic ability was distracted by concern for her little one.

Kyle's psychic ability on the other hand, what he preferred to call a gut feeling, told him that Cartman was not going to school either. He also knew it had something to do with Cartman's mood swings too and was determined to find out the reason. He just didn't tell Cartman that.

"What are you doing here Kahl?" the fat ass looked like he hadn't slept a wink and was rubbing his eyes furiously when Kyle knocked on his door.

"I don't know," Kyle shrugged nonchalantly, "I just couldn't be fucked with school."

"You?" Cartman looked a little more wide awake at that.

"Yeah," Kyle looked over his shoulder to make sure none of his parents were around and then turned back to Eric," I felt like being… bad."

Eric Cartman jumped forward and grabbed the front of Kyle's coat, studying his face hard, "who the hell are you and what have you done with that Jew rat?"

Kyle swatted his hands away and smirked, "It's me, fat ass. Now are you going to let me in or am I going to have to roshambo you?"

Cartman thought for a minute, as if he was weighing up the advantages of being roshamboed or having Kyle in his house but he stepped aside to let him enter.

"You're bunking off school?" Cartman asked again, still confused.

"Yes I am. I feel like it," Kyle crossed his arms over his chest and glared, "I know Stan will steal Kenny and I'm not sitting by myself."

"But there's Token… and Clyde," Cartman suggested but Kyle had already made himself comfortable on his sofa, sitting in the exact same spot that Cartman always did.

"You're not at school either," Kyle frowned, knowing damn well he was sitting in Cartman's spot," and you don't look sick to me."

"I didn't sleep last night," Cartman's eyelids felt awfully heavy, but he didn't want to fall asleep.

"Why?" Kyle asked cruelly, "Was there an All-You-Can-Eat Buffet at some 24hr restaurant or something?"

"Fuck you Kahl," Cartman flipped him off, "I'm not telling you why. And if you keep giving me shit then you know where the door is. Don't let it hit your ass on the way out."

"No I want to stay," he told him, "Your mom is the only one that won't have a hernia because we're not at school. If it was my mom or whatever…"

"It'd be worse than an army of Mecha-Streisand's," Cartman agreed and sat up beside Kyle, annoyed because the cushion underneath his ass was not moulded to his shape.

Cartman really did not like his new seat. It chafed in all the wrong places, "So Kahl, wanna play with the Wii?"

"What?" Kyle leaned away.

"The Nintendo Wii you stupid asshole," Cartman growled, "What the hell do you think I mean?"

"With you it's always hard to tell," Kyle pointed out and agreed to play. He hadn't much experience so Cartman let them warm up by playing the sports game, the two boys enjoying a rousing game of tennis without breaking a window or stepping foot outside.

Their fun, as always, never lasted for very long because as Kyle was about to win a set and served back to Cartman, Eric swung his arm around with maximum force and perhaps accidentally on purpose cracked Kyle on the elbow with the controller instead. Hit right on the nerve, Kyle let out a little squeal of pain, his arm going numb and tingly downwards. He missed his shot and could just make out Cartman whooping in the background as he rubbed his poor elbow.

"I won! I won! I won!" Cartman did a little victory dance, his fat unfortunately jiggling as he did do.

"You only won that set, you r-tard," Kyle glared at him, trying to shake his arm back to normality.

"Come on Kahl, don't take it too hard," Cartman smiled at him, "we all know that Jewish genetics pretty much mean you suck at all sports."

"Jews don't suck at sports," Kyle glared and shook his controller in Cartman's face.

Cartman tried to knock it away with his own controller and once again managed to hit Kyle without even trying. Hissing when it cracked against his finger, Kyle glared at Cartman and jumped him, trying to whack him over the head with the controller. The poor players in the game stood around looking confused and randomly swinging while Cartman hit back, the two boys thumping each other hard. It was fortunate the controllers were attached to their wrists or some of Kyle's strikes might have knocked out an eye.

"Wii fight!" Cartman croaked as he began trying to kick instead, his vision going temporarily black every time Kyle brought the controller down on the top of his head.

"Say you're sorry!" Kyle struggled, trying to dodge when Cartman almost had him in a headlock. Cartman brought his spare hand around and knocked the wind out of Kyle, his punch landing square on the stomach.

As Kyle struggled to breathe, Cartman lunged and knocked them both off their feet. They had knocked over a lamp and were at the hair pulling stage when Liane entered. Her eyes opened in horror when she saw the two boys trying to kick the crap out of each other with the Wii controls.

"Boys! Boys!" she clapped her hands together and raised her voice a fraction, "that's not how you play video games."

The boys did not hear her, for Kyle had managed to grab a handful of Cartman's hair and was dragging him across the carpet, the fat ass letting out a pig-like squeal. Liane was forced to move in and separate the two of them, undoing the straps that attached the controllers to their owners and throwing them to the side.

"Alright now!" she became quite stern. When the children still did not look at her, glaring and scowling at the enemy, she was forced to pinch their ears to make them listen, "now you two have to behave. I'm making lunch and I can't do that if you both don't play nice."

"He started it," Kyle sniffed and rubbed his bruised cheek.

"Fuck you Jew boy," Cartman breathed and glared.

"I mean it Eric!" Liane scolded him, "you play nice or no doughnuts for after."

Kyle muttered something about a fat ass but Cartman settled down, his mouth watering at the idea of a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles. He turned and sat up on his seat on the sofa, stubbornly making the groove bigger while Kyle could only scowl at him. Liane smiled and nodded at them both, foolishly believing that they would behave themselves now as she headed back into the kitchen, humming "It's the most wonderful time of the year" under her breath.

"Well I kicked your ass," Cartman hissed as soon as she was gone.

"No you didn't," Kyle fumed back, "you were squealing and I wasn't even beginning to kick your ass yet."

"Yeah whatever dude," Cartman crossed his arms over his battered and sore chest, refusing to back down.

"Not fighting back then, fatty?" Kyle smirked.

"Don't call me fat!" Cartman said indignantly.

"Is that an ass or a planet Cartman?" Kyle asked cruelly, "your ass is so big it needs its own police force. You probably have your own McDonalds outlet on that thing."

Cartman jumped off the sofa and grabbed the front of Kyle's shirt. He was shaking as he seethed, "you haven't fucking changed."

"What?" Kyle looked confused.

"You!" Cartman shook him, "you're the bully. You're the bad one!"

"Me?" Kyle felt his teeth chatter as Cartman shook him.

"Yes, you!" Cartman let him go and stood back. He then rhymed off a Haiku with his fingers, "Ass full of pork fat, jiggles like a Jell-O mold. Mouth is flapping, too."

"Oh come on!" Kyle protested, "That was ages ago!"

"Second item," Cartman held up a finger, "when you guys made me ride that mechanical bull. What did you say? Oh, I remember! 'Now, either you're getting on a bull or I'm gonna break your fuckin' head open'!"

"We were just kids," Kyle shook his head.

"We are still kids," Cartman pointed out, "Item Three. I was too fat to play Jesus? 'Aw man, at least the real Jesus didn't weigh 400 pounds!' I don't weigh 400pounds Kahl! Never have."

"Stop being such a big, cry baby!" Kyle was beginning to realise that he had never actually been nice to Cartman since the beginning.

"What about all those times you started singing Come Sail Away just so I would have to finish it? You know I have a problem! I can't hear that song without finishing it and you knew that! What about when you ripped that General Lee beard off my face, do you have any idea how much it hurt? When you guys tried to make my pig have sex with your elephant? Making me do the German Dance?"

"Alright! Alright!" Kyle waved his arms, trying to make him stop.

"You left me on that cross to die!" Cartman clenched his fists, "and you didn't care. You never cared! Ok, maybe you're different now. You're the sweet one. The rational, logical one. Now I'm the one bullying you and you can't stand it, can you? Now you know what its like! To be singled out for being different; me because I'm fat and you being a stupid, greedy Jew!"

If Cartman wasn't so angry he might have cried.

"What about all the times you tried to kill me?" Kyle pointed out, "don't you dare make out that you're the victim here! Again and again I keep trying to trust you, hoping maybe that we can be friends and you always ruin everything."

"Not always," Cartman told him, "but it was you that drew the battle lines Kahl. You're the one that started it."

"No I didn't, it isn't true," Kyle was beginning to feel horribly guilty. Nearly everything Cartman had said was true. He had enjoyed making fun of Cartman's weight; he did enjoy exploiting certain weaknesses. But that didn't make him a bad person did it?

Kyle was a good boy. He'd always thought so. Always tried to do what his parents told him, behaved in school. But was it possible to be good and yet be cruel to only one person?

"You looked down your nose at me," Cartman said, "You thought I was stupid and evil. You think I'm scum."

"You're not stupid," Kyle tried to make it better, "and you're not scum."

"Yeah right," Cartman sat back up on the sofa and glared at the tennis players still waiting for them to continue the game.

Kyle sighed and even though everything in his being fought against it, he apologised, "I'm sorry Cartman. I'm sorry for calling you fat."

"And for making me ride the bull."

"And for making you ride the bull and making up Haiku's about you, and leaving you on the cross to die and everything else I've ever done that hurt you or made you lash out."

"And so you're sorry for being Kahl?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, "I'm sorry that I was an immature, unfeeling, insensitive little asshole when we were eight."

"Not quite good enough but I can't expect much can I?" Cartman looked away.

Kyle sat up on the sofa beside him, feeling strangely humbled. He was looking at Cartman with new eyes. Was it really everyone else's fault that Cartman was who he was?

"And you?" Kyle asked, "Are you sorry for being a fat, racist, self-centered, intolerant, manipulating sociopath?"

Cartman turned to look at him and an evil smirk appeared on his face, "hell no."

Before Kyle could open his mouth to scold, many phrases coming to mind that would remind anyone else of his mother, there was a tapping on the living room window and for the second time in a week, Cartman went to see who it was.

Kyle's eyes bugged open when a small creature clambered down from the window sill and stood at Cartman's feet. The gnome saluted at the fat child and smirked. Cartman nodded back, rubbing his hands together with glee. The gnome was about 2ft high and he was a peculiar looking thing with short black hair and a moustache, a sort of irritated and exasperated expression forever on his features no matter his mood.

"Dude," Kyle stared, "is that an underpants gnome?"

"I have a name," the gnome frowned and looked up at Cartman.

"Jew, Bob," Cartman waved an introduction, "Bob, Jew."

"I have a name!" Kyle protested, echoing the gnome.

"Ok. Ok. Ok. Kahl, gnome. Gnome, Kahl."

Cartman felt the need to belittle at least one person in every conversation and it just happened to be Kyle and Bob that experienced it this time. So when they both looked at each other there was a sort of shared sympathy for having to put up with that asshole. The gnome however seemed very excited about something and he fidgeted, hopping from one foot to another.

"It can be done sir," Bob exclaimed, looking rather pleased with himself even though his facial expression hardly changed.

_Sir?_

"When?" Cartman pressed him for answers. His expression on the other hand Kyle knew very well, it was his 'I'm going to fuck someone over and I'm very happy about it' expression.

"This evening if you want!" Bob told him.

"What's going on?" Kyle interrupted, "What's this evening?"

"None of your beeswax," the gnome glared at him.

"What are you up to Cartman? You're not going to get the gnomes to cross dress poor Tweek again are you?"

"Fuchsia suited his complexion," Cartman defended himself, "but this has nothing to do with Tweek. Just because the gnomes bother him a lot doesn't mean they like belong to him or anything. But Bob's right, stay out of my business or I'll kick your Jew teeth in."

"Cartman," Kyle folded his arms across his chest, "you might as well tell me before I have to follow you and find out what you're doing and then have to wrestle with my conscience about whether or not I should tell on you before eventually approaching you to tell you off and when you tell me to fuck off everything gets messed up and you end up grounded or in Juvi Hall. It'd be easier to just tell me."

Bob scratched his moustache, "Quicker by the sounds of it too."

A dangerous glint appeared in Cartman's eye and he balled his fists, "I'm going to give that asshole Santa a piece of my fucking mind."

"We've never had a human tell him off before!" Bob piped up, looking cheerful.

Kyle stared.

"No I don't believe that," he snorted, "Eric Cartman doesn't just give anyone a piece of his mind."

Bob and Cartman shared a glance and then neither could meet his eyes, "Ok, we're going to start a Revolution and mess up Christmas. If I'm not getting a present then why the hell should anyone else get any?"

Kyle thought of the billions of people around the world that celebrated Christmas and his jaw dropped. All those people buying presents for one another, so many millions of children waking up on Christmas morning expecting a surprise from jolly old St Nicholas. So many billions shunning every other religious holiday and holding it supreme above all others, above those of Jews and Muslims and everyone else. So much greed. So much money.

And Eric Cartman wanted to destroy it for all of them?

But such was Kyle's feelings at that moment that he was far from appalled. He was shocked sure, but he was impressed too. No one else in the world had the balls to attempt such a feat, fucking up the most important day in the world for a vast number of people. Santa was rather fragile in all honesty. One man made the difference between a happy day and an ordinary one. And he lived, all on his own with barely any global protection, with just a bunch of gnomes at the North Pole.

He was wondering why terrorists had never considered the idea before when he realised the gnome and the fat ass were expecting him to say something.

"All this for some stupid game console?"

"It's more than the PS3!" Cartman exclaimed, "It's the principle of the thing! If Santa can stop delivering presents because you're naughty then your parents can stop giving you candy simply because you're bored and they need to shut you up. And then where does it end? Taking candy commercials off TV to save our teeth? Merchandise banned from being produced so we're protected from commercialization? What about when they make every kid in American wear a school uniform? It's going to come to that Kahl. If Santa forces kids to be good then so will everyone else."

Cartman took a deep breath.

"And I'll be damned if I allow that to happen. Kids are supposed to be spoiled and stupid. We have our whole lives to grow up and no fat ass, red wearing, bitter old bastard is going to ruin Christmas for me! Or I'm going to ruin it for everyone else."

"You know what Cartman?" Kyle felt a lump in his throat that felt more like revulsion than emotion, "you're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Even though you might have been naughty all year its still totally not cool what Santa did to you. And the whole holiday is ridiculous anyway. You spend all year supposedly being good so on one day you can glutton yourself on too much food and too much stuff. Too many toys and games and everything. Why put that much effort in when being left out of the festivities is only going to make you feel bitter?"

"You feel bitter?" Bob asked.

"Yeah," Kyle's shoulders slumped, "I get abandoned every year because all everyone cares about is presents and Santa fucking Claus."

Cartman thought to himself and looked down at Bob, "Room for one more?"

Bob looked up at him questioningly. But Eric Cartman knew what he was doing. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Kyle Broflovski was the smartest kid he knew and it could only work to his advantage if they brought him along. Kyle always saw potential problems before anyone else and even before anyone could panic about them the Jew already had several solutions to it. Bob and Cartman were going to have to lie to Kyle for a while; they had not totally revealed the exact scope of their plans. But Cartman knew that the only way to string people like Kyle along was to step slowly, tiptoeing further into the quicksand before you shoved their heads under; bringing them to the point they could not escape.

However Kyle did not need any convincing, "I want to go with you."

"Why?"

"I have problems with this asshole Santa too," Kyle folded his arms across his chest, "he ruins the holiday season for me."

Cartman shrugged, pretending he didn't give a damn but secretly pleased, "It's your funeral. But it's going to be very dangerous. We're going to be stirring up rebellion, there will be guns and swords and bombs and all sorts of fighting. You think you can handle it?"

"Better than you can," Kyle told him, "you'll be running for your life before I do."

"I won't turn chicken," Cartman glared, "Mark my words Broflovski, one day the whole world is going to fear the name Eric Cartman."

"Only because they'll be afraid of you sitting on them…"

* * *

It sounded like a bad joke.

A waddling Jew.

Sounded like a really bad joke a certain Eric Cartman would make but Kyle did happen to be waddling. Not out of choice of course; his inner voice had pointed out how very, very, very cold the North Pole was likely to be and he had prepared well.

He was currently wearing 5 pairs of socks, 3 t-shirts, 2 jumpers, a vest, 4 layers of pants, 2 jackets, 6 scarves, 3 pairs of gloves and a balaclava under his ushanka, giving the overwhelming impression that he was as fat, if not fatter, than Cartman.

Cartman had barely changed at all, wearing a jacket that was a little bit thicker and two pairs of gloves but he was already insulated against the cold with his many layers of flab storing warmth.

When Bob and Cartman saw what Kyle had changed into when they had flown up North to the beginning of the ice sheets surrounding the Pole Cartman had actually wet his pants laughing. Kyle could only frown, walking very slowly, his mobility restrained by the many layers; otherwise he would have punched Eric in the teeth.

"Hey fat ass," Cartman was delighted at the sight, watching Kyle struggle.

"Some of us don't have a cushion of fat keeping us warm," Kyle muttered and attempted to bend down to fix his snowshoes and only succeeded on falling on his ass as he wobbled.

Nearby a BBC film crew was interviewing a young Canadian woman, tall and slim; her ski goggles making her eyes look a tad larger than they were.

"And so, Katrina," one of the reporters held a microphone up to the young woman, "how does it feel to be the first woman to dog sleigh to the North Pole? Are you scared?"

"A little," the woman chuckled and motioned back to her huskies waiting for her, "but I trained a good team of dogs and it'd be cool to prove that women are the tougher sex."

"So you think you'll definitely succeed?" the reporter asked, only the cameraman aware that there appeared to be three children checking out the sleigh and they had no business being anywhere near here.

"I've had this planned out since the beginning," she smiled warmly, "stuff can go wrong but I'm ready for anything."

"What are they doing?" the BBC cameraman finally asked, lowering his camera to stare after the boys, all of whom had climbed into the sleigh.

Everyone whipped round just as there was a loud yell and the dogs took off across the ice, pulling the sleigh rapidly behind them.

"They're stealing the sleigh!" the reporter gasped while the Canadian woman took off after them, cursing them to hell and throwing her gloves at them.

Cartman on the other hand had already begun to go through the survival kits and rucksacks secured on the sleigh, pulling out random items and tossing them into the snow behind them as they shot towards the North Pole.

"Ooh, cheesy poofs," Cartman started to munch, getting his sticky fingers all over the extra clothes.

Kyle was not as enthralled with the situation as his companion, looking up at the sky and trying to gauge how long the light would last and how low the temperature might drop.

"It's going to take us weeks to get there," Kyle sounded an awful lot like Kenny, muffled under his many layers, "the ice is always shifting. We could wake up and be 5 miles away from where we went to sleep."

"But we're on a sleigh," Bob pointed out, watching the huskies run.

"So?"

"Oh cool," Cartman whipped out a bra and waved it around.

Kyle ducked so one of the straps didn't hit him in the eye and stared at the gnome, "So why's it important that we stole this sleigh anyway?"

Bob tapped the side of his nose, "Santa may be magic but it's not his powers that make the reindeer fly."

Kyle's eyes widened as the gnome closed his eyes and began chanting just under his breath, his hands shimmering with strange powers. Cartman was not paying much attention and pulled a black ushanka from one of the rucksacks.

"Looks a bit like yours," he held it out to Kyle but just at that moment the whole sleigh shuddered and the huskies took off into the night sky, dragging the three with them. Cartman was not prepared for this and nearly fell off the sleigh entirely, holding on with everything he had, nearly dropping the hat onto the ice. Kyle too struggled to hang on, screaming as they shot faster towards the North Pole.

It was impossible admire the ice bergs drifting southwards, gliding like mountains past them. Cartman had slid off the sleigh entirely and was using only one hand to hang on. Kyle was squeezing his eyes shut, his teeth chattering while Bob sat serenely behind the huskies, using his powers to guide them.

Cartman bellowed bloody murder until Santa's Fortress of Solitude winked in the distance, eerily glowing between the mountains of ice all around.

"We're almost there!" Bob shouted over the wind, taking little notice that Cartman was in danger of plummeting to his death, "I think we should land a little bit away so they don't shoot us out of the sky."

"FUCKING HELL DUDE!" Cartman replied and Bob took that as agreement, guiding the dogs into a smooth landing, about a third of a mile away from the fortress. The sleigh took a while to slow down, gliding for quite some time it seemed when Cartman let go entirely, landing face first into a pile of snow.

But resistance slowed them down eventually and Bob hopped off immediately to dash back to his new master, digging through the snow to find him. Cartman was blue in the face and barely conscious when Bob and Kyle dug him out of the snow and it took many fat ass comments to rouse him into awareness. He was about to strangle Kyle when Bob began to speak.

"Shall I go ahead and start the Rebellion, Sir?" the gnome asked, "I can remember all the gnomes that were unhappy last time."

"And then we can sneak in," Kyle added.

"We need weapons," Cartman pointed out.

"Gnomes can make fully automatic machine guns in a matter of seconds, sir," Bob told him, "I can have two gnomes waiting for you at the entrance."

Cartman could only nod, slightly disappointed that he himself wasn't going in all guns blazing but the gnome was right. If the gnomes stopped working, started fighting amongst themselves, then there would be no one watching Santa.

"Lock him in his workshop," Cartman whispered, "Lock Santa in and we can deal with him once we have control of the fortress."

"Will there be enough of the gnomes on our side?" Kyle asked.

"Yes," Bob smirked, "only the brainwashed extremists will fight back and the reindeer might kick up a fuss but they're in the minority."

"Then go."

Bob went on ahead, leaving the two nine year olds behind. Kyle and Cartman sat silently in the snow side by side, Cartman rubbing his poor head and Kyle shivering with the cold. After an hour of complete silence they set off after the gnome, taking with them all they could find in the rucksacks, occasionally tripping and sliding on their journey. It was a very long distance for such young children and Kyle was feeling faint by the time they reached the fortress.

"I'm cold," he was shivering; his body heavy and tired, "I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold."

Cartman could not stand Kyle's chanting but he too had barely any energy to tell him to shut up. In the last hundred metres they had linked arms, forcing each other forward step by step to their destination. The doors of the fortress opened and just as Bob had said there were two underpants gnomes waiting for them, holding out rather large guns for them both. When the doors closed behind them the magic of the place rejuvenated them and Kyle became very aware of how much hotter it was inside than it was outside.

"I'm hot, I'm hot, I'm hot," Kyle furiously began peeling off several layers of clothing, now feeling faint with heat.

"Stupid, weakling Jew," Cartman muttered, checking out his gun and trying to ignore his new partner. He asked the gnomes, "Where's the enemy?"

"Santa is locked in his workshop," one of them saluted, "he put up a bit of a fight but we knocked him out with chloroform and a savage whifflebat beating."

"Good," Cartman nodded and scanned the room. It was littered with the corpses of several gnomes in various levels of goriness and by the sounds of the fighting in other rooms it seemed like they wouldn't be much better either.

Kyle went pale when he saw all of the deceased and was barely able to hold his own gun, "Oh… oh this is horrible dude! They're dead!"

"No they're in Lala land," Cartman muttered sarcastically and turned to face a group of gnomes who were dragging a number of unhappy reindeer into the large entrance hall.

"Sir!" Bob ran up to them and saluted, "what do you want us to do with these reindeer?"

Cartman ran an eye over the animals in distaste. There was always a chance that when Santa woke up he could escape with one of these reindeer and there was no way in hell he was going to allow that to happen.

"Kill them," he said coldly.

It wasn't just Kyle's eyes that widened at his words. A few of the gnomes gasped and lowered their own guns, horrified at such a suggestion.

"Well do you want your treacherous master running off?" he asked them and then pointed at Rudolph, "When that one is dead I want his nose for a brooch. It'd make a really awesome light up one. Make me look cool."

Kyle looked like he was going to be sick and for a moment Cartman was glad that it was Kyle had with him and not Stan, that stupid animal loving hippy fag.

"What are you waiting for?" Cartman asked, "An invitation? Shoot them outside. This place is already a mess. We can't have anyone loyal to Santa left alive. I'm sorry but that's how it is."

The gnomes stared at Cartman for a few moments until one by one they led the reindeers outside, the animals putting up a bit of a struggle on the way. Kyle had placed his hands over his ears and was whispering something along the lines of "I don't hear shooting, I don't" under his breath.

Cartman then motioned for the rest of the bodies to be cleaned up and taken away and then entertained himself with surveying his new kingdom. Here was in the single most powerful factory in the world, making billions of presents every year at a rate that no other company in the world could achieve. Where anything imaginable could and would be made, where so much magic existed. And yet no military presence at all, nothing to defend Santa Claus within. It was wonderfully quiet (even though shooting was still going on somewhere within the fortress) and no one in the world knew they were here. No one in the world knew that Eric Cartman was now in charge of the biggest weapons factory now in existence and no one knew what he was intending to do with it.

Except Kyle. Kyle seemed to have gotten a very good idea of what was going on now.

"Cartman," Kyle took his hands off his ears and asked for an explanation anyway, "What are you doing?"

"I'm becoming a god," Cartman savoured the words with a sigh.

"I thought we were just coming to rough up Santa a bit," Kyle protested, "you said nothing about killing gnomes or even reindeer!"

"You never asked," Cartman pointed out with a smirk, "But we're here now and you have two choices; you can either stay here and help me or you can stay here and join Santa."

"I'm not your prisoner!" Kyle picked up his gun but he seemed reluctant to use it, "If you had told me you were going to kill people I wouldn't have come!"

"Well why did you come?" Cartman appraised Kyle.

"To tell him to stop ruining friendships! To stop him for making people hate each other just because some people celebrate Christmas and other people don't. It's all his fault."

"It's not Santa's fault that you fell out with Stan," Cartman shrugged, "you know whose fault it is? It's Stan's. It that Catholic, Middle Class, 4 person family, Middle America white hippy scum's fault."

Kyle glared, "Don't say that!"

"Why not?" he asked, "You know I'm right. It is his type that ruins the world. They look down on one parent families, on ethnic minorities and the poor like me and you. They don't give a damn as long as they are happy and comfortable. You know what the truth is? Stan hates you for being a Jew too. He'd rather you were just like him. Deep down he's probably more racist than I am."

"No he isn't!" Kyle pointed the gun at Cartman and the fat ass laughed.

"Why are you even defending him?" Cartman asked.

"Stan's a good guy."

"Yeah he is but that's because it's his world. Believe me I'd rather be friends with him than you any day of the week but my family isn't exactly normal is it?"

"So what does that make me?" Kyle was fuming.

"You're the bad guy," Cartman smiled, "like me. And together we can show them all. We can take all the presents for ourselves. Why should they have a Merry Christmas when I don't get to have one? I wanted that PS3 and now I can have hundreds of them. Thousands!" he swung his arm around dramatically to illustrate the possibilities, "Millions!"

Cartman stopped to cackle evilly, consumed in the prospect of unlimited greed and Kyle stared at him, bewildered.

"Don't you see Kahl?" Cartman beamed at him, "we can take over the world. Me and you. It'd be so easy. You'd have so much potential Kahl, if you were allied to my vision and brain."

"But I hate you."

Cartman licked his lips and smiled. He felt like he was really seeing Kyle for the first time in his life, that all those arguments that had gone before suddenly meant nothing. In Cartman's eyes the rivalry was gone, perhaps even the hatred. Could it be possible that he could learn to like Kyle, even care for him like Stan did?

He was considering this as Kyle looked around the Fortress, his hands shaking and he had to lower the gun to stop himself from killing Cartman or one of the gnomes. That made Cartman laugh and he tossed his own gun away, ignoring the clatter it made when it struck the ice. He took two steps towards Kyle and eased the gun from his fingers, tossing it away as well.

Kyle seemed so scared, so hesitant. And for the second time within a week Cartman was filled with a strange sort of protectiveness.

"It's ok," he whispered reassuringly.

"I'm not," Kyle shook his head, "I'm not like you. I'm not bad."

"But you can be," Cartman smirked. In the distance were the sounds of the gnomes still fighting each other and they created a wonderful sort of rhythm, the sounds of anger and pain. Cartman was very musical and even as the sounds grew louder he already knew he was going to sing.

"I know that you're looking for redemption," he sang softly to a bewildered Kyle, "But there's nothing you can gain when you hide. You're so very good so pay attention; my words are a matter of pride."

"Stop singing," Kyle rolled his eyes and tried to distance himself from the weirdness of Eric Cartman.

"You know you want to be bad," Cartman teased and with a strange sort of grace he circled Kyle.

"I'm not a bad boy!" Kyle huffed and tried not to look concerned at the way he was being stalked.

"You can be," he narrowed his eyes at Kyle.

"No," Kyle tried to move again when Cartman went behind him but a large fat hand held him in place.

"It's clear from your forlorn expression," Cartman waved a hand in front of Kyle's face and laughed through his song, "You fear being wicked, the bad boy."

Kyle shuddered and wrenched his shoulder away but Cartman had already pirouetted in front of the young Jewish boy, that insane, greedy smile apparent on his face.

"But we're talking power and temptation," Eric waved his arms around, trying to show Kyle how wonderful it was to use a few wicked tricks to get what you wanted, "Why be good when you can have all the toys?"

Cartman stopped singing for a moment and gathered up a handful of snow from the nearest ice shard. When he had made a decent enough snowball he chucked it at his new friend, knocking off the single item that had always annoyed him about Kyle. He hated that ushanka so very, very much.

Upon impact the ushanka flew off of Kyle's head and an abundance of shameful curls erupted from underneath. Kyle grabbed his hair, scandalised, and looked around for his hat, hating his hair as much as Cartman hated his ushanka.

But just as Kyle approached his fallen hat Cartman had already quick stepped in front of him and held out something black and familiar. It was the same shape as the lime green hat that had fallen away but it was the colour of nighttime, black and malicious looking.

"Kahl, prepare for a chance of a lifetime," Cartman held out the new ushanka for him, willing him to take it, "Kahl, I have sensational news!"

Kyle took it grudgingly as Cartman raised his voice and sang loudly, shaking the fortress walls with only his voice. No one would have dared imagine that Cartman could move so gracefully but he hopped and skipped as Kyle pondered the new hat.

"My shining new era," Eric sang, "Is tiptoeing nearer…"

Kyle had to interrupt this time, "But where do I feature?"

He was immediately scolded with a harsh pinch on the chin and a frown, "Kahl, listen to teacher."

"You're an asshole Cartman," Kyle rubbed his poor chin, seriously creeped out by Cartman's sudden desire to sing. There was something very wrong about that. And something slightly queer too.

"Shut up Kahl," Cartman did not like his songs being interrupted, thank you very much.

"We can't just take all the toys Cartman!" he protested, "They're not ours and we're just here to ruin Christmas!"

"But we can do so much more!" Cartman explained through song, "Of course it sounds sordid, but we'll be rewarded when at last we have stolen what's due! And treasures deliciously squared…Be prepared!"

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Be my friend, Kahl," Cartman stepped towards him.

"You're not my friend."

"Be my best friend," Cartman breathed, "and we can take over the world. Right a few wrongs. You never need to be alone again. No one apart from me will ever make fun of you for being Jewish ever again. No one will leave you alone. I won't let you be lonely."

Kyle hesitated and couldn't look at Cartman, "It's not that bad. It's just you that makes fun of me."

"How many hours were you left in the snow?" Cartman asked sweetly and with one last glare Kyle stomped off, dragging the black ushanka with him.

By now the room was much tidier and Cartman rubbed his hands together at the thought of seeing to that traitorous Father Christmas when Bob approached with a group of the gnomes, looking rather concerned.

"The fortress is now ours but my comrades are a little worried about your methods," he squeaked.

"My methods?" Cartman asked, deciding to play on the gnomes' love of profits, "my methods only include a 200 pay rise for every gnome loyal to me and 20 commission on Weapon Sales. Is that so awful?"

The gnomes eyes lit up and they started talking amongst themselves.

"What do you want us to do, sir?" they asked in unison.

"I don't like the décor in here," Cartman sniffed, "it's too Christmassy and wholesome."

"We can get some kryptonite," Bob waved one of the gnomes away to get some and bucket of water.

"And I need, once you've all eaten and slept," Cartman decided to be generous with his new workforce, "for you to start building weapons. Santa will wake soon and it won't be long before someone realises what's happened here. They might try to save him. Any surpluses we can sell for big profits, all of which go to loyal gnomes."

A few gnomes bowed low and one cried out, "you can gain profits by selling stuff? Is that Step 2?"

Cartman nodded and at once a drum beat started up again.

The gnomes began to sing this time, marching around Cartman, elated that they could go from no profits at all to rather large ones. All because this fat and evil child took a trip to the North Pole.

"It's great that we'll soon be protected," they sang, "With a workforce our new ruler can afford!"

"But gnomes, quid pro quo, you're expected," Cartman smirked and climbed up onto a ledge where they could all see him, "To supply lethal weapons I can hoard."

More and more gnomes joined the assembly, the word having spread quickly of Cartman's generosity.

"The world is littered with prizes," he sang to them, "And everything is mine you can see. But the point that I must emphasize is there's no evil in the world quite like me!"

A gnome returned with a bucket of water and a small green stone which Cartman clasped tightly in one hand and wished with all his being for all his dreams to come true. Then he dropped the kryptonite into the water and everyone jumped back as after a few moments the bucket was flattened and crystal shards began bursting out from within. They pierced all of the walls of the entrance hall and started to merge with the rest of the building's structure, changing it from its eerily serene atmosphere to dark, cold and dangerous. Several of the gnomes squealed and ran away as the crystal ripped and changed Santa's home.

Cartman on the other hand leapt onto one ledge created by the crystal and up to another.

"So prepare for the coup of the century!" he sang and the gnomes sang back to him.

(Oooh!)

"So prepare for the murkiest scam!"

(Oooh... La! La! La!)

Cartman jumped up higher and higher, exhilarated with his new creation.

"Meticulous planning!"

(We'll have power!)

"Tenacity spanning!"

(Lots of profits!)

"No more denial!"

(Authority!)

He may not have been entirely in his right mind but Cartman loved every moment of it, "Is simply why I'll…"

(Supremacy! Superiority!)

And that was when Kyle reappeared, dressed entirely in black, having shed all the unnecessary layers from before. But upon his head, above his still apprehensive and fearful face was the black ushanka. It suited him.

"Be Evil undisputed," Cartman chanted, looking right at Kyle and expecting a disapproving response.

(Aaaaaaah...)

Cartman waited but did not stop singing, "Respected, saluted."

(...aaaaaaah...)

And Kyle saluted, flashing an extraordinary evil smile at Cartman. He was thrilled at the sight of it and smiled back.

"And seen for the wonder I am!"

(...aaaaaaah!)

"We're going where The Simpsons won't dare!" Kyle surprised them all by singing too.

(Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo)

"Be prepared!" the boys sang together and for once in his life, Eric Cartman had a best friend. "You can forge a complaint! We don't care!"

"Be prepared!"

* * *

READ AND REVIEW PLEASE

LOL don't think I was the first one to use Kahl, actually I know I'm not but I'm so glad that other writers are using it now. Cartman says Kahl. Remember that.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is dedicated to the lovely IndianaBeachBum and Minamina9.**

Here's a little hint for the next chapter. If you look up the song Lonely this Christmas by Mud and listen to it, let me know who it reminds you of, what character? LOL I want to see if anyone else is on the same wavelength as me.

(You know what the real advantage of this story is? I get to listen to Christmas music all year long LOL)

* * *

Whifflebat beatings hurt like no other.

For one thing, the pain filtered through your senses like a bad curry, burning you, searing your insides with humiliation. It was with this pain that Santa Claus finally opened his eyes and gazed around at his wrecked workshop, his new prison.

He was wondering what had disturbed him, what had brought him out of the whiffle coma when he heard a voice, faint and almost indistinct.

"Mr. Claus… this is the Coca Cola company… are you there? Can you respond? Over."

Santa blinked and raised a hand to his bruised head, wincing with pain as his fingers grazed the swollen fresh. He sniffed back the blood dripping from his nose and tried to shake away the grogginess.

"Mr. Claus… are you there? Please respond! Over."

Bruised and beaten, Santa crawled over to a small view screen on the far wall. The screen was partially cracked but it still seemed to be working. A young woman in dressed in red gazed anxiously out of the fractured glass.

"Mr. Claus… can you hear me? Over."

Santa pressed a few buttons on the side of the screen and his image was projected many miles away back to America, the young female assistant gasping in horror at his appearance.

"Yes…" he wheezed painfully and he wrapped an arm around his ribs, "Santa is still here."

"What on earth has happened?" she asked him fearfully, "are you alright? We've all been worried sick about you!"

"The gnomes…" Santa coughed hoarsely, "they were too strong for Santa."

Santa looked into the terrified eyes of the young woman and in a moment he saw all her good deeds and bad deeds. His mind was like a computer, and it ran so much data at once that it was actually painful, and deadly to any normal human being. He knew the woman's name and all her hopes and dreams without having to ask. Because Santa knew. Santa always knew.

It was the same every time he met someone new. Their lives would flash before his eyes and even before he realised it he had placed the individual into a naughty or nice category. Sometimes there were so many bad deeds that it made him cry with pain. Santa could barely remember meeting George Dubya Bush because of the information intensity and when he had met Adolf Hitler he actually fainted. But this woman seemed to be ok. He could function fine for the moment.

"Santa's fortress of solitude has been attacked," he explained, "terrorists from the outside infiltrated the gnomes. Santa has been locked in his workshop."

"Who are the terrorists?" she asked him urgently but at that moment the screen shattered into millions of pieces as a bullet grazed past Santa's head.

Santa whipped around and saw a little boy and once again the list of good and bad deeds soared through his memory, "Eric Cartman, nine years old, South Park, Colorado."

Eric Cartman's eyebrow twitched but he brought the gun back down again so Santa could get a better look, "Your gnomes made this. Do you like it?"

Anger flared in Santa's chest but he said nothing.

"Semi-automatic," Cartman slid one finger across the gun almost lovingly, "it'd take the top right off of your head if I felt like it."

"Little boy," Santa tried to reason with him, "why are you doing this? Why are you trying to hurt Santa?"

Young Eric narrowed his eyes, "you put me on the naughty list."

Santa blinked, looking at Eric, then the gun and then back to Eric to make a point.

"I was on the naughty list before!" Eric said, lowering the gun, a slight blush on his cheeks, "you had no right to do that."

"You have been a very naughty boy, Eric Cartman," Santa explained, "you're not the only one to be naughty but if your parents can't make you play nice then Santa has to teach you instead."

"I'm not as naughty as some children!" Eric raised his voice, a dangerous sign.

But Santa continued anyway, "You made it seem like your best friend had lice just so no one would suspect you. You jumped the homeless when all they wanted was help. You abused and humiliated young Leopold Stotch and you have no concept of patience."

"You don't understand!" Eric was shaking with anger, "you don't get it! How can I be the only one without presents? It's so fucking embarrassing! How dare you put me in that position? How dare you give the rest of the faggy bastards that make my life miserable all the presents they want and give nothing to me?!"

Santa looked sympathetically on the young boy. He did understand Eric situation, he had seen it all in his mind when Eric entered the room. He saw the loneliness, the taunts from his classmates. But he was expressing himself in entirely the wrong way.

"Unless you can get rid of that temper," Santa told him, "and unless you can learn to enjoy being nice to people, doing nice things for them, then I will always have to leave you off the nice list."

"I'm not the one that's naughty!"

Santa worried for just a moment that leaving Cartman off the nice list indefinitely may only make him worse, increase his bitterness, and magnify his cruelty. But he had to try and make the child see sense.

"You had my reindeers killed didn't you?" Santa sighed mournfully, staring at Eric's glowing brooch.

"I couldn't let you escape…"

"They know I've been attacked now," Santa said, "they know and they'll come. You could end it all now. Just leave. Then perhaps when the military attacks they won't kill you."

Eric laughed loudly, "Kill me? Kill me? I have a workshop capable of building weapons of mass destruction faster than the Middle East. I have your workforce loyal to me! I think we can handle whatever your little faggy friends will throw at us."

"Please see reason Eric. You have no idea how many friends Santa has. Despite what you think Santa does not want to see you hurt."

Eric smirked and run his finger over the gun again, "you might have the world as your friend, but I have Kyle Broflovski."

"Who?" Santa thought he recognised the name but no information came to his head.

"A very intelligent Jew. I think of the evil and he makes sure it works with that Jew reasoning of his. He's already found some nuclear material. You know that not far from your home there was a stockpile of the stuff? Yeah, it had written on the top, 'Saddam's stash: Don't steal please'."

A ripple of fear made its way down Santa's spine, "You won't… you're not going to bomb anyone are you?"

"It depends on how I feel," something cruel glinted in Eric's eye, "it all depends on you, and how you behave.

"But right now, I have to see a Jew about some warheads. You'll think the situation over, right? You won't make me do something that you'll regret?"

Eric laughed and left the room, switching off the lights as he went, leaving Santa to his thoughts in the cold darkness.

* * *

Through the wonder that is e-mail and phone lines, satellite communication and the internet, the entire American government had discovered that Santa Claus was incapacitated. Someone had declared Defcon 4 and many CIA agents as well as the FBI were waiting anxiously for news. No one had invited the ATF because no one liked them really.

"Yes the president is concerned," Special Agent Johnson spoke to one of his underlings impatiently over the phone, "but it's still mid-evening naptime and I'm not putting up with him when he's cranky. I don't care what time it is in London, get Gordon Brown out of bed right now! I want the British Secret Service on this too."

He hung up the phone unceremoniously.

"I think we can handle this without getting the Brits involved," a member of the CIA fumed.

Johnson glared at him, "Do you not understand how serious this situation is? We get everyone on this! I don't care who they are!"

"We can handle it by ourselves," CIA agent Rafferty glared back; "the Coca Cola company said it was just a kid in the video."

"Handle it by yourselves?" Special Agent Johnson asked it in disbelief, "I barely expect the FBI to be able to handle it by ourselves. Haven't you forgotten that the Brits caught all their terrorists while we're still chasing ours? If you don't want to work with the rest of us I'll be sure to let the President know. But you have to be the one to disturb nap-time."

Rafferty shut his mouth, glancing at his colleagues.

"Now we'll share what information we have on the kid if you guys can share what you know?" Johnson asked all the agents. They only nodded or blinked.

Johnson stood up and clicked on a projector, showing a blurred image of a fat child standing with a gun behind the injured Santa Claus, "the only thing we've been able to establish right now is the identity of the child. We don't know how he got to the North Pole, why he's there or even who he's working for."

"Terrorists?" someone asked.

"No, actually. The child shown in the video is one Eric Cartman of South Park, Colorado. Our agents there are already interrogating people in the town and we hope to have his mother in custody very soon.

"Some of you may have met Cartman before with the Snuke fear during Hilldog's campaign rally. So why he's suddenly fighting against everything we hold dear is one of the most urgent concerns. Make no mistake gentlemen, the loss of Mr. Claus is a tragedy on a global scale and all of you fail to realise how important Mr. Claus is to our country.

"If Mr. Claus dies, or is held for ransom very much longer, we are looking at the complete collapse of international capitalism."

Rafferty paled and many other agents looked visibly distressed.

"It's always the communists!" an elderly FBI agent fumed, "We gotta find out if this little bastard is working for the Russians or worse, the Chinese."

"How exactly will it lead to the fall of international capitalism?" a young agent asked.

Johnson explained, "it's been many decades now since Christmas was considered a religious holiday. Countries all over the world depend on the Christmas season as a way of building up their economies. The spending around those few months is on an astronomical scale. Billions if not trillions of dollars are spent by people all across the globe.

"Santa, rather than Jesus, has become the focal point of the holiday and without him there are no profits. There would be no reason to buy presents for children. Lovebirds won't buy each other exciting underwear; middle aged people might not get those socks that they've always wanted. Spending is how the world celebrates this holiday and now without Santa the public may actually begin to enjoy the season as a time of peace and love.

"And the consequences would cripple businesses and governments all over the world."

"Jesus Christ," Rafferty shook his head in horror.

"But back to the matter at hand," Johnson paced the room, all the eyes watching him, "our suspect Eric Cartman has reportedly been missing for several days now. But so has another young child named Kyle Broflovski."

FBI agent Taylor nodded, "We've had a preliminary statement from Cartman's teacher. Apparently Kyle Broflovski is Eric Cartman's enemy and just before they went missing they had a fight in the classroom. We could be looking at the possibility that Cartman killed Broflovski before he took over the North Pole."

"Possible," Johnson agreed, "they could have fought because Broflovski knew too much about Cartman's plans. So I'm going to want a search of all the rivers and woods around South Park."

"Perhaps Cartman could have taken Broflovski with him as another hostage," the elderly FBI agent pondered, "we should look more into Broflovski's background to learn about his relationship with Cartman."

"The CIA will have no trouble with that," Rafferty agreed, "and we should do a full character analysis of both children to try and see how they might behave."

"Good," Johnson nodded, "Good. I'll consult with the President to see how to act to this. He may want to drum up support for attacking the North Pole in the U.N. A situation like this could increase the support of the international community.

"Let's just hope we don't fuck this one up gentlemen. We don't need another Iraq."

"And let's just hope that Broflovski is alive," Rafferty said, "and kicking Cartman's ass so we don't have to."

* * *

Kyle was rubbing his nose with concern.

In the space of twenty solid minutes with only each other and a few gnomes for company, Cartman had already made 67 anti-Semitic jokes, referred to Hitler 39 times and sniggered about concentration camps 18 times.

And Kyle could feel his blood beginning to boil. He tried desperately to tune Cartman out as they ate lunch together, but the fat ass had started to talk about the stereotypical Jewish facial features, particularly in comparison to Kyle's own.

"That is a really big nose, seriouslah. With all the money we're going to make you could at least get some reconstructive surgery so it doesn't make me piss my pants every time I see it, Kahl."

"I don't have a big nose," Kyle inwardly fretted; he'd only ever worried about stereotypical characteristics before. It was almost too painful to worry about appearances as well.

"It's like a…" Cartman stared at Kyle's face from several different angles from his side of the table, "it's like a beak."

"I DON'T HAVE A BEAK!" Kyle's mouth dropped open.

"I could ski off that thing, Kahl."

"You wanted me to be your friend!" Kyle stood up, "but all you've done since we got here is make fun of me."

"I always made fun of Kenny too," Cartman shrugged, unable to understand the problem.

"I can't work with you! I can't stay here if every two seconds you have to criticise every little thing about me. Next you'll be saying my fingernails are stereotypically Jewish!"

"That's not exactly fair," Cartman frowned, "I haven't had a close enough look at them yet."

Kyle let out a small roar of frustration, "Why are you such a goddamn freak?"

"I'm not the one with the beak, beaky."

"I'll break your fucking nose!" Kyle balled his fists.

Cartman pulled his gun out from under the table and pointed it at Kyle, "Don't bother!"

Kyle stopped; his eyes focused on the gun, feeling a shiver of terror make its way up his spine.

"You won't… you won't shoot me."

"I can do whateva I want, Kahl," Cartman smirked cruelly, "I was hoping me and you could get along. But you're so… uptight."

"You keep making fun of me!" Kyle resisted the urge to stamp his feet and pull his hair in exasperation, "what the hell am I supposed to do? What do you fucking want from me?"

"A little song… a little dance. Santa's head on a lance," Cartman chuckled and motioned with the gun, "sit down Kahl."

Kyle did so, his stomach knotting with a mixture of fear and frustration. It made him feel ill. He picked up his chicken sandwich and attempted to eat while Cartman put the gun down on the table. But Kyle had completely lost his appetite.

Bob, Cartman's little gnome advisor, took that uncomfortable moment to put his own two cents in.

"You know," he piped up, "I heard that your nose keeps growing all through your life."

"Really?" Cartman raised a curious eyebrow.

"Yeah," Bob smirked, "I read it somewhere. It grows and grows and grows."

Cartman slapped a hand down on the table and laughed uncontrollably. He pointed at Kyle with his other hand and roared with laughter.

"Fucking hell, dude! Imagine your beak at 60! You won't be able to stand up!"

Kyle grabbed his nose in horror.

Cartman fell off his chair laughing. He lay on his back on the floor and seeing the terrified expression on Kyle's face only made him laugh harder.

"You'll… need… a wheelbarrow… wheel your shnozz about… everywhere!"

Kyle began shaking, unable to stand the sound of Cartman's laughter. Using only his temper, Kyle pushed the heavy lunch table aside, plates and glasses smashing all over the floor.

"THAT'S IT!" Kyle bellowed, "I'M NOT PUTTING UP WITH YOU ANYMORE, FAT ASS! I'M LEAVING!"

Kyle stormed from the room and Cartman's laughter subsided with surprise. He sat up and watched Kyle's retreating form. For a moment he wanted to call him back, even apologise. Despite everything, Cartman really did want Kyle as friend; he just wasn't very good at being one. He became aware of the gnomes curious stares and could only shrug again.

"Sand in the vagina," he offered as an explanation.

One of the gnomes, sweet faced and cruel eyed, appraised the nine year old, "What is with all the Jew jokes anyway?"

"It's… Kyle," Cartman said, "He's Jewish…"

"So?" another gnome asked.

"It's… just always been that way. He makes fun of me for being fat. I poke fun at his religion, and the stereotype, and concentration camps, and Woody Allen, and Hitler, and his mother, and his nose. Everything really."

"I don't quite get it myself," Bob scratched his beard in contemplation.

"Well," Cartman thought, "let me explain."

And he clapped his hands to dim the lights, only he was illuminated; only Cartman was under the spotlight.

"I know what you're thinking," he sang to the gnomes, "You wonder why I hate him. I could hurt anyone else in the world. That's just a first impression; you have not yet heard my confession."

He raised his chin and looked into the darkness that surrounded him; under the spotlight he could barely see the gnomes.

"If you knew him like I do, it would change your point of view…"

This time Cartman's song was a little more somber, a little more from his heart (wherever that was). So many other gnomes were intrigued and although he could not see them, they gathered together to listen.

"If you could see Kyle through my eyes," Cartman sang to his audience, "You wouldn't wonder at all. If you could see him through my eyes, I guarantee you would hate him (Like I do). When we are walking together, I can't stop myself causing him pain. And if you could see him through my eyes, maybe you would do the same…"

Cartman bobbed back and forth to his tune, momentarily admiring his musical talents. He took a few slides to the right and the spotlight moved with him (due to some wonderful gnome trickery).

"How could I speak of my issues?" Cartman puzzled in his own song, "I wouldn't know where to begin. He's clever, he's smart, but he's still a Jew, he doesn't eat bacon or eat ham (Like I do). Yet when we are fighting together, people sneer when I call him a Jew. But if they could see him through my eyes, maybe they would make fun of him too!"

As he was not the type of person to leave something half finished (unless it was homework and boring) Eric spun on the spot and made up a short dance, sliding from one side to the other, raising a foot and then the other. One of the gnomes whistled and a few others laughed. But it was not because they thought less of him. Far from it. Cartman's ability to make a fool of himself only made them respect him more.

Cartman whipped Kyle's green ushanka from out of the shadows and fell onto his knees dramatically, "why don't they leave us alone?"

"Ladies and Gnome-men," he implored them all, "I ask you, is it a crime to hate someone so entirely? Can one ever choose where our prejudices lead us?"

He raised the ushanka to his chest, "Why can't you understand that this is the way I am? A little understanding?" he begged for it.

"Why can't the world just leave us alone, live and let live?"

He stared at the hat in his hands and got back to his feet. A cruel, almost terrifying smirk appeared on his features as he stared into a world he could not see.

"Oh, I understand your objection," he chuckled a little and again clasped the ushanka to his chest, keeping it close to his heart, "But you cannot possibly see… that if you could see Kyle through my eyes…You'd know how much he means to me!"

And with that, he bowed low.

The gnomes burst into appreciative applause, delighting in the theatricality of the performance. But deep down they were still quite confused. It still wasn't clear why Cartman hated Kyle or even attempted to gain the Jewish boy as an ally.

However, the confusion only arose because deep, deep down Cartman was even more confused. On the one hand he wanted to jeer Kyle, pull him down a peg or two and banish everyone like him from the world. But for some reason he truly wanted the great struggle to end, he wanted peace between Kyle and himself. He wanted to be able to say that Kyle was his friend, and ask for his advice, and work together in harmony.

But if bad habits were easy to break then no one would smoke, no one would drink heavily. There'd be no drug addiction. And Cartman was addicted to pain, not his own, but savouring the pain of others. If he was not so young and immature he would have seen that the addiction only hurt him too.

For example, it caused his stomach to clench painfully when he saw Kyle stride past the door again, a rucksack flung over one shoulder.

"Kahl! Wait up!"

"Fuck off fat ass;" Kyle told him, "I've had enough."

"No, please, listen. I can change. I can. It's just when you get used to hating dirty Jews for so long it's sorta hard to break the habit, you know?"

Kyle made an indignant noise in the back of his throat.

"But I really do want to change my ways!" Cartman told him, "I promise you, no more Jew jokes."

Kyle frowned, "None at all?"

"Nope."

"Not even a comment about ham… or Hitler?"

"Nothing."

"And… you're going to be ok with this?" Kyle looked rather puzzled.

"Your friendship means more to me," now that was a downright lie; Kyle's cooperation meant more to him.

"So even if I call you fat you won't go all Nazi on me and try to gas me?" Kyle really could not understand what Cartman was trying to say.

"I'll bite my tongue and smile sweetly," the thought of Cartman smiling sweetly would make most people shudder.

And Kyle did look a little weirded out. He gave Cartman a long hard stare and shook his head, "I don't believe you."

"Kahl Broflovski, I give you my word," Cartman nodded his head.

Kyle dropped his rucksack from his shoulder and scratched his head, trying to grasp the enormity of Cartman's gesture. It didn't feel right to him; Cartman's remarks pissed him off but it would be strange never hearing them.

"I guess you'll probably still make the occasional Jew joke," Kyle frowned, "but only because I called you fat or something."

"Well that's the challenge isn't it?" Cartman hooked an arm around Kyle's and smirked at him, "we'll go cold turkey. If you stop calling me fat, I'll stop picking on you."

"I don't know…"

"Can't handle the challenge?" Cartman asked, "Can't go the distance? It is a little too difficult for you."

"I can last longer than you, fat ass!" Kyle glared and then covered his mouth in horror.

Cartman smiled and looked at the ceiling, "I've gone deaf, did you say something Kahl?"

"No… nothing at all," Kyle relented.

Cartman gave Kyle a gentle push back down the corridor, "go unpack, and then we can figure out what we're going to do. At least one person already knows that Santa is missing. Won't be long til everyone finds out, although they probably have already."

Kyle nodded and went away to unpack, "we need to find out whether or not that stash actually works. It could have leaked out or something, made the ice melt."

"Don't worry about that now Kahl, I know of a few places we can test it. You just make sure it's attached to the missile and I'll do the rest."

* * *

Stan Marsh sighed with depression and placed his forehead on the cool, relaxing surface of his locker. He sighed again far more mournfully, feeling increasingly sad and increasingly sick.

The world rushed past him without caring and something he did not quite understand ached in his chest. The whole day he had been looking out for someone, listening for someone, waiting for someone. And Kyle had never shown up. Stan did not think it was possible to miss someone so much but he kept thinking of stuff that Kyle would find funny, he kept thinking of interesting things to say. He kept just wanting Kyle to be there, sitting beside him so they could smirk amused at each other any given moment.

But Kyle wasn't here. And whose fault was that, Stanley Randolph (1) Marsh?

Stan heard a muffled voice singing but he did not look up. He didn't need to. He just wished Kenny would not sing that particular song.

"Oh it's the most wonderful time of the year! With the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you 'be a good cheer! Oh it's the most wonderful time of the year!"

"Please don't sing that song Kenny," Stan whined plaintively.

"Why the fuck not?" Kenny asked and sang again, "It's the most wonderful time of the year. There'll be much mistletoeing and hearts will be glowing, when loved ones are near!"

Stan let out a small sob and his shoulders started to shake ever so slightly.

Kenny stopped singing and just watched in surprised as Stan tried to hold back whatever it was that was upsetting him.

"How long has it been?" Stan asked.

"Since what?"

"Just… since."

Kenny thought and looked at Stan's watch, "Five days, eleven hours and twenty five minutes since you had your lovers tiff with Kyle."

"Feels like an eternity," Stan turned around and slid down his locker onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Kenny blinked, "Stan?" he asked, "I hope you don't mind, but are you… gay or something?"

"I'm nine," Stan glared up at him.

"You're acting like a pussy," Kenny shrugged and looked up and down the corridor for the chance of free holiday cookies.

"And you sound like Cartman."

"Maybe," Kenny said, "but Cartman seems to attract food to him in amazing quantities and maybe if I act like him I might be able to collect enough for Christmas dinner."

"I think it's the other way around," Stan pointed out but Kenny was sniffing the air, still trying to seek out that elusive Christmas cookie.

Kenny didn't have time to seek out any seasonal treats as the school tanoy whined into life.

"WOULD STAN MARSH AND KENNY MCCORMICK PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE?"

"I didn't do it," Kenny looked uncomfortable, unsure what he was supposed to have done. Stan pulled himself to his feet and together they walked down to the office, thinking up a million excuses and alibis just in case.

And it seemed like they would need them because when they entered the room there were three men in suits crowded around the desk, seemingly scolding the headmistress.

"What's going on?" Stan asked warily and everyone turned to look at them.

"Stan. Kenny," Principal Victoria looked a little relieved to see them, "there's a few agents from the FBI here to ask you a few questions."

Kenny hung back, trying to think of what he may have done to bring the FBI in. Was it the porn he had swiped from his dad, was that why they were here?

"Shouldn't we have our parents here for this?" Stan took a seat, frowning at the agents.

"We've called them but we need to talk to you now," one of the agents sat on the principal's desk, trying to appear friendly and casual, "we need to ask you about two of your friends; Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman?"

Kenny sat down beside Stan, "what about them?"

"They're not in trouble are they?" Stan's anxiety bubbled in his stomach.

"Hopefully not but we need to know where they are."

Both boys shrugged, "they've been missing for a couple of days. People are worried about them."

"Do you know where they may have gone?" Agent Burns with very big sideburns asked.

"Dunno," Kenny said.

"Can you tell us about the last time you saw them?"

Kenny could not say anything. He was not the last one to see Cartman and Kyle. Stan on the other hand paled and looked at his shoes. The FBI noticed and all focused on the dark haired boy.

"It's ok kid," one of them encouraged, "you can tell us. If we find out what happened to them then they won't be in any trouble."

"They were walking home," Stan explained, "I was coming home from the mall with Wendy and Clyde. I was supposed to have met Kyle but I forgot. I… left him for three hours."

"Then what happened?"

"Me and Kyle had an argument. He said some horrible stuff about Christmas and I called him a Jew… and Cartman took Kyle away before me and Kyle could fight each other. I didn't want to fight him or anything. He's my best f-f-friend."

Burns looked horrified, "you called him a what?"

"A Jew… he's Jewish."

The agents tutted and shook their heads. Principal Victoria looked disappointed and all the adults gave each disapproving glances.

"Here I thought you seemed such a nice kid," one of the FBI said, "I never thought a kid like you could be a racist."

Stan's jaw dropped, "I'm not! I'm not racist."

"Imagine," Burns' expression was cold with disdain, "kids these days being so incredibly insensitive. I bet it's that MTV or something. Makes children into despicable little racist bastards."

"I'm not racist!" Stan protested.

"He's not racist," Kenny told them, but his voice was muffled by his parka.

"You proud of yourself kid?" one of the agents shook his finger in Stan's face, "How does it feel knowing that your best friend was targeted by your racism just hours before his possible death? People like you make me sick!"

"Kyle's dead?" Stan's eyes filled with tears and his shoulders shook with anguish.

"Well he was last seen with Eric Cartman, his enemy from what we've heard. And no one has seen him since!"

"Is it possible that Eric Cartman could have murdered Kyle Broflovski?" Burns asked.

"Cartman hates Kyle but he would never kill him," Kenny explained, "he likes seeing him miserable too much."

The FBI conferred, "so it is possible that the kid is being held hostage."

"Hostage?" Stan's voice squeaked as a few tears trickled down his face.

"Listen to this kid. After your little despicable racist slur Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman disappeared at around the same time. And Eric Cartman is currently at the North Pole holding Santa Claus hostage. No one has heard from the Fortress of Solitude since Coca Cola managed to get a message from Santa a few hours ago. We know for a fact that Cartman is there but we have no idea where Broflovski is… and if he's dead kid then that's one hell of a guilt trip for you, huh?"

Stan trembled with horror and was more than relieved when Randy and Sharon entered, along with Kenny's parents. He flew out of his chair and flung his arms around his mother's legs, feeling sick to his stomach at the idea of Kyle as a hostage and even worse at the idea of him being dead.

The FBI were not as sympathetic, "we're glad you are here, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, Mr. and Mrs. McCormick."

"What's all this about?" Randy asked.

"Well you've probably heard already about the Cartman/Broflovski disappearance?" the parents nodded, "we think they could be connected."

Burns continued, "And it seems like your son may be the reason why Broflovski went off with Cartman. It's too early to tell."

Randy grabbed Stan's shoulder, not too roughly, "what did you do Stan?"

"He called him a Jew."

Sharon raised a hand to her mouth looking horrified, Randy looked disgusted and the McCormick's just blinked.

"I thought we'd taught you better than that," Randy let go of his son, looking ill with disappointment.

"I'm not racist!" Stan protested again, "it just came out! We were arguing!"

"So because you're angry that makes it ok?" Randy asked, about to lecture when Sharon touched his arm and shook her head in a no. Randy had no right to lecture anyone about cultural sensitivity.

But just at that moment the door burst open again and another agent dressed in black appeared, "we got her! We've found the mother."

* * *

Liane Cartman smiled sweetly at the FBI agents, sitting across from them at table in Officer Barbrady's Police Station. To get the old officer out of the way he had been sent out to buy some eggnog and vodka mix and would probably be a while.

"So how can I help you gentlemen?" her wide innocent eyes captivated both agents but they tried to remain focused.

"Ms. Cartman," Burns clenched his jaw, trying not to be drawn in by her beauty, "where is your son?"

"Oh he's around somewhere," Liane shrugged and smiled again, seemingly unconcerned, "but he won't be long. He told me not to worry."

"He told you that he was leaving?" Burns narrowed his eyes, "and you let him? But he's nine years old!"

"My little poopsiekins is very mature for his age. I know that he's in no danger."

"Your son," Agent Johnson (no relation to Special Agent Johnson), "is currently at the North Pole, apparently holding Santa Claus hostage."

"Oh don't be silly," Liane waved her hand and the idea that her son may have been embroiled in such a situation had no impact on her bubbly disposition.

"It's true Ms. Cartman," Burns frowned at her, "we have proof. We have a clip of your son, Eric, brandishing a gun and shooting a telephone visual screen seconds before a very urgent call to the North Pole was cut."

"My little Eric knows that guns are naughty," Liane put particular stress on that last word, fluttering her eyelashes at the visibly agitated Johnson.

Burns glared at his colleague to convince him to keep his composure.

"Ms. Cartman," Burns opened a folder in front of him, Eric Cartman's School Record, "we have plenty of evidence that proves your son doesn't know guns are naughty and has actually used them on a number of occasions."

"I'm sure if he used them it was only because things were hard," Liane leaned across the table, twirling a few strands of hair around her finger, "when times were difficult. My special little man wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Oh I'm sure he wouldn't," Johnson sighed, leaning across the table as well, looking earnestly into Liane Cartman's eyes.

Burns watched the pair of him and cleared his throat to try and get their attention, "Ms. Cartman, we have reason to believe that your son is holding Santa Claus hostage at the North Pole."

"Is Santa in handcuffs?" Liane asked, running her tongue over her bottom lip. Whether or not Santa was in handcuffs was completely irrelevant but Johnson seemed to shudder beside Burns.

"That doesn't matter," Burns pointed out to her," we need to know why he would do it; we need to understand his motives before we speak to him. Can your son be negotiated with?"

"Yes, of course," Liane looked Johnson up and down and got up from her seat.

"Please sit down, Ms. Cartman," Burns stiffened in his chair to stop her but his colleague appeared to be just as stiff.

Liane did sit down. On the table. She ran a finger along the collar of her shirt and popped open the top button, her cheeks flushing prettily, "it's so warm in here, gentlemen."

"Please sit down in your seat Ms. Cartman," Burns was ready to call off the interrogation there and then if it wasn't for the fact that she had kicked off both her shoes and placed them into Johnson's lap.

He stroked the soles of her feet, gazing up at her, "being interrogated for something you couldn't control must be so stressful."

"My poopsiekins has such a strong will of his own," Liane sighed happily as the FBI agent massaged her feet, "like his mother."

Johnson ran a hand up the back of her leg, apparently now in charge of the interrogation, "why would he take over the North Pole?"

Liane purred as he found the sensitive spot on the back of her knee, "my poor little Eric wasn't going to get any presents this year."

"Oh?" Burns tried to regain control, "we need to know why."

Cartman's mother leaned forward and grabbed Johnson's tie with one hand, smoothing the hair back from his face with the other, "because he has been so… so… so naughty."

"That's just terrible," Johnson shivered again, "that poor little fella!"

"Mmm," Liane nodded and inhaled deeply, her bosom heaving into Johnson's eye-line.

Burns slammed his hand on the table, "that's it then! The kid has been left off the present list and he's trying to get his revenge on Mr. Claus! It's nothing to do with communists at all!"

"I-I'd agree," Johnson whispered huskily.

"But he could still trigger the entire collapse of international capitalism with his childish mischief!"

"What about Broflovski?" Johnson tried to regain his focus even as Liane undid his top button and loosened off his tie.

"Oh he's safe," Liane leaned in and inhaled his scent deeply; running kisses from his jaw along his jaw to his earlobe, nibbling on the skin she found there.

"How do you know that for sure?" Burns asked her, his eyes wide at her complete disregard for their status as FBI agents.

"Because I gave him some sweaters and clothes to wear on the journey," she explained, her voice slightly muffled against Johnson's skinned, "I didn't want precious little Kyle getting cold."

"I think we got what we needed," Johnson closed his eyes and sighed pleasurably.

"I haven't," Liane muttered and pulled off his tie in reckless abandon. She then tore open Johnson's shirt without ripping off any of the buttons!

"Ms. Cartman," Burns was growing impatient, he wanted more information from her and she wasn't cooperating, "I could have you charged with negligence, allowing your child to go so far away from home without an adult, possibly armed. Even if we stop Eric before its too late you could be prevented from seeing him!"

"I don't think so," she peered at him from the crook of Johnson's neck.

"We are going to have to detain you for more questions. I can read you your rights… oh!"

Liane had reached over and was stroking Burn's nipples through his shirt, the fabric chafing pleasurably against the sensitive skin. He hadn't felt that good in ages, not since his wife had gone frigid.

The woman slipped completely off the table and onto Johnson's lap, her lips still busy on his neck and chest while her fingers slid under Burns's shirt, teasing his nerve endings.

"Ms. Cartman," Burns protested, "we can't work under these sorts of situations!"

"But I can," Liane was obviously trying for a ménage a trios.

"You could be arrested for this, baby," Johnson whispered in her ear. Baby? He'd never said baby in all his life, not even to his girlfriend!

"Oh am I naughty?" Liane looked positively delighted at the idea, leaping off Johnson's lap and leaning over the table, presenting her derriere to the agents, "Then you must spank me! Spank me! Oh yes! Please do! It's been so long since I had a good spanking!"

"Erm…" Johnson looked uncomfortable, "I don't hit women, not even like that."

"Oh please! I am so very, very naughty!"

"It's not right," he protested.

She wiggled her bum in his face, "you know you want to."

"No I don't."

"Spank me! I'm very bad and I need to be punished."

But it wasn't Johnson that finally lifted his hand. Burns brought his hand down sharply, her skin burning momentarily after the impact. But she gasped in delight. Burns caressed her peach of an arse with satisfaction and then brought his hand down again. She cooed in response.

He stood up and lifted up her skirt, Johnson's eyebrows rising sharply, disappearing under his hair.

"You won't answer our questions!" he barked at her, bringing his hand down to spank her, "you wouldn't do as you were told!"

"Oh yes! I'm bad! I'm so very, very bad!"

"YOU (SPANK) ARE (SPANK) A (SPANK) VERY (SPANK) BAD (SPANK) MOTHER!"

It was perhaps fortunate then for everyone concerned that Barbrady chose that moment to enter. He looked at Ms. Cartman bent over the table with her knickers showing, Burns's hand frozen in mid spank, Johnson sitting stiffly with his shirt torn open.

He stared puzzled and finally asked, "has this anything to do with the Japanese mafia?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in a completely different part of the country, the media had gotten wind of the story.

"Tonight on Smartline! The little miscreants that you call children have finally snapped in the weeks leading up to the holiday season! Reports leaked from the Pentagon suggest that jolly old Saint Nicholas won't be sneaking down your chimney, broad and black due to the machine gun that is being pointed at his back!"

The overweight newsreader leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, "I'm Kent Brockman and tonight is going to be a little different folks. I have no guests, I have no snappy script. We have in fact thrown out the pile of garbage that was meant to be our show tonight – Keira Knightley's chin; the new evidence that proves she sunk the Titanic. And instead we're going to just fly by the seat of our pants, piss in the wind and hope for the best!

"Now… you know that I'm not your normal type of news reader, presenter, celebrity, whatever you might want to call me. I do not lecture my audience although they probably do deserve it. No, I prefer to tell it how it is and right now you parents are getting the wake up call of your life!

"I assume you were all expecting that Santa Claus was going to deliver your overweight, over valued, selfish, uneducated delinquents more presents than they actually deserve. However an official named Tara that works in the Pentagon (and who wished to keep her identity secret) revealed to us that two children have taken over the North Pole, killed the reindeer, slaughtered some elves, probably raped a couple of midgets and is threatening every Christian around the world with the true meaning of the holiday.

"Now I'm not suggesting that these two children are religious extremists but I think it's safe to say that they probably are. Christian groups all over America are pledging their support, hoping that we might all forget our greed for a day and remember that 2000 years ago a little baby was born, apparently the son of God. You may have noticed that the word apparently was added in there but come on, if a guy in sandals and toga came up to you and claimed to be the son of God would you actually believe him? This newsreader can safely say… no."

Kent stared deep into the camera lens, rousing up all the verbal diarrhea he could muster, "However with the American economy floundering like Mel Gibson in a Shakespeare movie, big businesses and corporations are panicking that peace and love could completely wipe out any profits they may have gained from your over indulgence.

"And if international capitalism farts itself to death what can we expect from the new world? Well for one thing if our gung ho military decides to withdraw from Iraq and attack this new kind of religious extremist, then scientists say most of you out there are going to be living under water. Missiles and melting ice caps are not a good combination Mr. President and you can call me a pussy for acting like a member of the liberal media. At least I won't drown.

"In wake of Armageddon, I'd like to take this opportunity right here to tell all of you that you only brought this situation upon yourselves. Keeping children restrained under the guise that they'll get lots of presents on Christmas Day? That's crap. And it's blackmail; there are no real nice children in the world, only selfish little bastards expecting a heavy payload for a year's worth of false manners and hidden intent. I've never agreed with this Santa Claus… thing and I'd like to give a small salute to the children that finally worked out that adults tell more lies than children. I question your methods but what the hell."

A voice hissed angrily in Kent's ear, his editor informing him that if he ranted anymore in this way then he would find his ass fired.

Fortunately for Kent, two moments later Kent Brockman's editor was vaporized as a missile containing contaminated nuclear material landed in 742 Evergreen Terrace. But unfortunately before Kent could whoop in triumph he was also vaporized.

Smartline was no more. Springfield was no more.

And in the end there was only silence.

* * *

(1) That is Trey Parker's real first name. He's actually Randolph Severn Parker the Third or something 

**Please leave a review? You have no idea how much they lighten my mood when I'm down and I put so much effort into this. Even if you only liked one line let me know!**


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